


My Dear Aunt, My Darling Niece

by ContreParry



Series: Your Letters Bring Me Home [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Family Bonding, Gen, Introspection, Minor Angst, Other, Pen Pals, Personal Growth, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2019-12-25 23:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18271655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContreParry/pseuds/ContreParry
Summary: Inquisitor Trevelyan is many things to many people, but is delighted to learn that she is also an aunt. As she writes to her niece, she learns how to be not only Inquisitor Trevelyan, but Evelyn: Mage, Friend, and Aunt.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This all started because of the [Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle](http://dadrunkwriting.tumblr.com) on tumblr. To fill a prompt I got I wrote one short letter from a quickly created niece for my Inquisitor, and the idea grew into a monster of a story that is fully plotted out but only partly written. I hope no one minds me indulging in this idea, because it's been a lot of fun to write.

There was a letter on Evelyn’s makeshift desk when she returned from her trip to the Hinterlands. Her name and address (Skyhold, Frostback Mountains) was written out carefully on the thick parchment in black ink. The letters were painstakingly penned, as if someone took a great deal of time to make the slightly clumsy copperplate calligraphy legible.

Evelyn was reasonably certain that there was no one who would write to her. Anyone she knew at Ostwick Circle was either an apostate on the run, here in Skyhold, or dead. She recognized her grandmother’s handwriting, and this letter wasn’t from her. And as for anyone else- well, the point was that no one was going to write Evelyn a personal message. That didn’t mean that the letter was unwelcome. Getting a letter certainly put a dash of spice in her bland daily routine. She never got mail. Evelyn dropped her saddlebags and set her staff in its designated place on the weapons rack, because this letter on her desk is something _new_. There was a significant shortage of harmless new experiences in her life nowadays.

But the question remained: Who wrote this letter? Josephine took care of the various invitations she received, and Evelyn didn’t receive personal post. If she ever did, Evelyn was fairly certain that Leliana and her agents would comb through the contents of any letter before handing it over to her. Why wouldn’t they? She, an apostate Mage, just happened to survive a magical cataclysmic explosion that killed off a majority of high ranking Chantry officials, influential nobility from several countries, and several of the leading members of two warring factions during important peace talks? And then she just happened to gain the ability to close tears in the Veil between the waking world and the Fade that formed after this explosion? Because of this singular ability, she just _happened_ to become an indispensable figure in one of the greatest power vacuums in Thedas? Those sort of coincidences didn’t just _happen_ to people.

Had she been anyone else looking in on these circumstances, Evelyn knew that she wouldn’t believe it was all a coincidence. But what else could Leliana and Cassandra (and everyone else, come to think of it) do? Who else was going to close the rifts popping up around southern Thedas? Well, perhaps Solas or Vivienne or Dorian could figure out how to do it eventually, but before then? The damage would be done, the world burnt to ash before it could be saved. So Evelyn was named Inquisitor, even though there was no reason to trust her in the slightest. But Evelyn was not born yesterday. She might be the named leader, but she was carefully watched. Why else would someone hang a Templar banner in front of the door to her future chambers? They were sending her a message: You are watched. Never forget that you are watched.

So, in all likelihood, someone read this letter, found it harmless, and placed it on her desk in her temporary room off the main hall. Hesitantly, as if the parchment might burst into flames should she come too close, Evelyn picked up the letter and carefully turned it over and over in her hands.

Evelyn wracked her brain for any wispy, half-forgotten memories of letters long past, but the handwriting was still unfamiliar to her. It wasn’t particularly surprising. Though there were plenty of letters addressed to the Inquisitor, the amount of people who would write to _her_ could be counted on one hand. Dorian, for example, used more flourishes in his writing. Vivienne’s hand was steadier, and she wrote exclusively in blue ink (“It is the _fashion_ , my dear”). Josephine sent her messages via runner, as did Leliana. Anyone else would have spoken to her directly when she saw them. Or, in the case of Commander Cullen, he sent messengers to invade her premises and demand answers to his queries or live under siege. An unobtrusive letter on her desk certainly wasn’t his style, though Evelyn had to admit that the man was trying his best to be cordial after their chaotic flight from Haven. He had apparently told the latest messenger to “Ask if the Inquisitor is able and willing to look over these scouting reports, please.” It wasn’t that often that a Templar, practicing or otherwise, said please to a Mage.

Evelyn inspected the bright red wax seal on the letter. It was still whole and unbroken, but that didn’t mean that Leliana (or more likely, one of her agents) hadn’t read the letter. A knife heated over a flame or wafting the letter over a steady cloud of steam could help peel the wax away from the parchment without any signs of damage. The seal was stamped with the monogrammed initials H.E.T..

H.E.T.? Evelyn didn’t know anyone with the initials H.E.T..

“So the mystery continues,” Evelyn muttered, and she reached for the brass letter opener on her desk. She slid the dull blade under the wax seal, set the letter opener on her desk, and sat down at the foot of her bed to read the letter.

_Dear Aunt Evelyn,_

_You don’t know me, but I’m your niece. My father is Maxwell Trevelyan, your ~~older~~ eldest brother. My mother is Emily Fergus of Starkhaven. My name is Henrietta Evelyn Trevelyan. I’m eleven years old, though I will be twelve next week. Mother insisted on naming me after you, though Father said there aren’t families in Circles and you wouldn’t care any which way. Mother says (said?) that family is family and you’re a Trevelyan and it’s only proper to name me after you. Mother won that argument, as you can see. She wins most arguments._

_I’ve spent a long time writing this letter in my head. It is how I write most letters, because the words never come out right unless I take my time and really think about them. Do you do the same thing? No one else seems to but maybe we share more than a name!_

_I have so many questions, Aunt Evelyn. Do you like horses? I love them so much, they’re far easier to speak to than people. Do you prefer breakfast, lunch, or supper? I like breakfast best, especially the hot cakes Cook makes! My favorite color is purple. What is your favorite color? Do you like books? I’ve read some of the papers you have written in Ostwick Circle about plants and healing and magic._

_~~I didn’t really understand it but maybe I’ll read it again?~~ _

_I hope you will find the time to write to me, Aunt Evelyn. It will be nice to finally know my aunt after all these years._

_Your Niece,  
Henrietta Evelyn Trevelyan_

Evelyn stared at the parchment in her trembling hands. Niece. Maxwell had a daughter. Her older brother, solemn, quiet, stern Maxwell, was married. He had a wife. He had a daughter. His wife gave their daughter her name- Henrietta Evelyn Trevelyan. What a mouthful! But the most important thing was that this letter came from family. This letter writer was family. Henrietta was her niece. Evelyn had a _niece_ , and she wrote to her! Evelyn was an aunt! Aunt Evelyn! Oh, that sounded so strange in her head. Perhaps it would sound better, sound real, if she said it aloud.

“Aunt Evelyn,” Evelyn murmured, and then repeated it, louder. “Aunt Evelyn. I’m an aunt!” The laugh that bubbled up inside her was only slightly hysterical, and Evelyn clutched the letter close to her chest. It was a little like a hug. When was the last time she had been hugged? Years, at least. This letter was the closest thing to an embrace she had experienced in… in some time.

But it was better than nothing. Evelyn hugged the letter close to her chest and grinned. A niece! Oh, she was going to be an odd spinster aunt, the kind that had a dozen cats and said the strangest things, and Evelyn was looking forward to it. After all, Evelyn thought as she looked towards her bed and caught sight of her black cat snoozing atop a colorful plaidweave throw, she already had Blackberry for company. Spinster Aunt Evelyn. How delightful! Evelyn threw herself off the bed and raced across the stone floor towards her desk. 

She had to write a letter to Henrietta. Her niece!

-

Evelyn was walking in the cloister around the garden when she noticed it- a beautiful stone chess board set up on a wooden table. There were two chairs set out, yet there were no players at the board. She hesitantly reached out to touch the board, running her finger along the edge of the cold marble slab that formed the board. She hadn’t played chess in some time. Lawrence taught her to play when she was a child, before her magic came to her, but she was sorely out of practice. It was rare to find anyone who played in the Circle, never mind finding a full chess set to play with. But oh, this one was _lovely_! The pieces were so elegant! The marble was stunning! Someone had taken great care in carving this set, and someone had left it out in anticipation of a game. But who?

Evelyn quickly glanced around. Yes, there were people milling about in the garden. She spotted Mother Giselle walking the worn down path from the small chapel towards the main hall. Several messengers raced from place to place. Doors were constantly opening and closing, and the sounds of construction echoed through the yard. Yet no one had noticed her yet. No one was walking forward to demand what she was doing with their chess set. And the day was so lovely- wouldn’t this be a nice place to sit for a moment and think? Evelyn cautiously perched herself on the low wall next to the table and chess board and stared at the two neat rows of chess pieces on either side.

What to write to her niece. Her niece! The question had plagued her all night, for as soon as she sat down at her desk Evelyn found it impossible to put pen to parchment. There was so much she wished to say, but how to say it? It wouldn’t do to be overeager, to expect so much from a child- Henrietta was family, yes, and Evelyn so desired family, but she was a _child_. It would be a terrible thing to place the burden of her hopes and dreams on a child’s shoulders. Henrietta needed to be protected. She needed to feel safe, secure, and in control. She needed to know that she could withdraw her contact without guilt or shame, but Evelyn hardly knew where to start!

“Pleasant, cordial, pleased, but not too much,” Evelyn murmured. Yes, that sounded like a plan! She could work with that. She could do that! Now, how to answer the questions Henrietta posed- what was her favorite color? Evelyn pondered the answer to that question and a dozen more as she stared at the chess pieces.

“You seem in good spirits today,” Cassandra Pentaghast remarked as she passed by, nearly startling Evelyn off her perch on the wall. Only Cassandra’s quick hands and firm grip on her forearm prevented Evelyn from tumbling into the rose bush directly behind her.

“Oh! Well, that could have been a disaster,” Evelyn remarked breathlessly as she clambered to her feet. “Thank you.”

“You should pay more attention,” Cassandra scolded, though it wasn’t with the ferocity Evelyn had come to associate with Cassandra. Every action the woman did was performed with the sort of vigor and fire required in battle. She wasn’t soft or gentle, even when she tried to be, but Evelyn was determined to see it. Cassandra had been reasonably fair, given the circumstances they all found themselves in. Evelyn couldn’t blame her for viewing her with open hostility and suspicion at first. It was difficult to climb over those bad impressions and form new opinions of each other, but Evelyn was willing to try. Cassandra had always been fair.

“I should, my mind was… wandering,” Evelyn confessed. “Thinking of… things.” No doubt Leliana informed Cassandra of the letter Evelyn received, and there was a question she had bubbling in the back of her head for the past few days now. How was she to send her letter to Henrietta to Ostwick? She wanted it to be prompt. There was also the threat of spies intercepting the mail, learning of her family, and taking advantage of the information. The thought of Corypheus sending Venatori agents to Ostwick made Evelyn’s blood turn to ice in her veins.

But if she sent Inquisition agents to deliver a letter, that would draw Maxwell’s attention, and Evelyn had the sneaking suspicion that her niece hadn’t told her father that she was writing to her long-lost aunt. Could they even spare an agent? Their resources were already spread so thin, especially after their flight from Haven. No. No, she could not justify the costs of sending one messenger to Ostwick and the family estate for one letter. So what to do? It seemed like there were no easy answers to something as simple as sending a letter.

“Now you look worried,” Cassandra remarked. “What is it that has you so concerned?” Right to the point, as always, and that made her wince. No use in hiding anything from a Seeker, was there?

“Nothing serious,” Evelyn murmured. “Personal matter. Nothing to be worried about.” 

“It was merely an observation,” Cassandra stated. “You seemed happy.”

“Oh. I… well, things have been going well,” Evelyn said simply, “At least, everything has been better than I thought, but then I thought of some… problems.” Considering that so many of them survived Haven, that they found a place to survive and even thrive in in Skyhold, and that they were having an easier time tracking fade rifts, things were not as dire as they once seemed. And even if nearly everyone here saw her as Inquisitor or Herald or Mage, there was someone outside the political sphere of the Inquisition who saw her as something and someone else. She had a _niece_!

But if she couldn’t figure out how to subtly send a letter to Henrietta, would their familial relationship even matter? They would still be strangers.

“Yes, they have been,” Cassandra remarked, and she began to step away, “if there is nothing wrong...” Cassandra trailed off, and Evelyn felt a bolt of inspiration hit. Surely Cassandra knew that she had had a letter from her family (Leliana had to know, and she would never keep that information to herself). Perhaps Cassandra would have some insight into how the reply should be sent.

“No, I- if I could have a moment of your time, I would be grateful for your insight,” Evelyn hastily said. Cassandra looked- well, she appeared to be a little surprised, but as she didn’t say anything. Evelyn took that as permission to continue talking.

“I recently received a letter from a young relative,” Evelyn explained hastily, “and I would like to write back to her. However, considering our position with… well, with Venatori agents running amok and spies wandering around… that is to say, do you think I should write back?”

“Pardon?” Cassandra’s brow was furrowed. Never a good sign. Evelyn felt the bubble of panic rise in her throat as she began to blabber.

“I have very little experience with writing to family under normal circumstances. You don’t write to your family when you’re in the Circle. That is, theoretically I could have gotten away with it, I think, but it isn’t… common,” Evelyn explained, but what surprised her was the surprise on Cassandra’s face. It appeared as though this was the first time she had heard of Evelyn’s letter. Ah, well, perhaps Leliana hadn’t had the opportunity to inform Cassandra about the letter. They had all been rather busy, lately, and there were more pressing matters to attend to.

“Regardless, I wanted to know if you think that replying is wise,” Evelyn added. “Is there a subtle way to ferry the messages from Skyhold to Ostwick?”

Cassandra hesitated. She frowned. Evelyn tried not to flinch. She was going to ask why, she was going to pry, and Evelyn was no good at outright lies. And Cassandra was, unfortunately, good at ferreting out lies.

“Sending a note to a lover, your Inquisitorial-ness?” Varric asked slyly as he passed by Cassandra. “Don’t think the Seeker will like that, she’s historically a kill-joy.” He winked at Evelyn with that comment, and leaned casually against a stone pillar holding up the cloister.

“Am not!” Cassandra protested as Evelyn exclaimed “No!” rather loudly, and Varric’s grin made her flush. He obviously didn’t believe her, but he had his ears open for a good tale. If Varric wasn’t so charming, Evelyn would not say a word, but his smile and demeanor were disarming, and she found herself talking before she could stop.

“I…I received a letter from my niece, and I would like to write back to her. I wanted to know if that was… safe,” Evelyn explained. “With Corypheus and the Red Templars and- well, everything.”

“If it doesn’t have the Inquisition’s seal on it, and if it’s sent via a trustworthy, discreet courier, I don’t see why there would be a problem,” Cassandra replied. “So long as your niece isn’t trying to gain the Inquisition’s influence or money or speaking for you-”

“No, definitely not,” Evelyn interrupted, a smile on her face. “Thank you, Cassandra.” Cassandra’s answer was so sensible! Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Perhaps she was just too deep in her own thoughts that she couldn’t see a clear path.

“If you need a messenger, you can borrow the one I use for my editor,” Varric suggested. “Ostwick’s not too far for him, and the Carta can be discreet.”

“Carta? Dwarf, I will not have you dragging her into Carta business,” Cassandra exclaimed, and Varric’s laugh echoed through the cloister.

“Not involving her in business, just offering,” Varric replied. “The Carta can be discreet.”

“Thank you, Varric, I’d be happy to use your messenger,” Evelyn said. “As long as it isn’t too much work.”

“Nah, he usually has to make a trip down that ways, it’ll be easy,” Varric said. Cassandra rolled her eyes and looked more than a little displeased, but she held her tongue.

“Thank you. Both of you,” Evelyn stated, and she glanced at the chess board again. Feeling a little silly, she picked up the white queen’s pawn and set it down two spaces up the board. Pawn to d4.

“It’s such a shame to leave the game unplayed,” Evelyn explained quickly, and before Cassandra or Varric could say anything else Evelyn hurried down the cloister and away from them. She had to get back to the letter on her desk so she could address it properly, seal it, and send it on its way, though as she walked away she heard Cassandra and Varric talking.

“Isn’t this set Curly’s?” Varric asked.

“Yes, I believe so-” Cassandra’s reply was lost as Evelyn shut the door behind her.

-

_Dear Henrietta,_

_I find myself pleasantly surprised by your letter. It is lovely to hear from family, and I am delighted to make your acquaintance. My full name is Evelyn Adelaide Trevelyan, and my middle name is my grandmother’s first name- or, in your case, your great-grandmother._

_I also write rough-drafts of my letters before penning a final copy. I find it much easier to organize my thoughts once everything I wish to say is written down in front of me. The Senior Enchanters forever despaired over the parchment I wasted when writing, and they invested in a slate and chalk to save money on paper. I wish I had it with me now, for composing this letter was quite difficult. There is so much to say, but I will settle for answering your questions to the best of my ability._

_I find horses to be quite charming, and am becoming better acquainted with a new mount. It has been a long time since I’ve been around horses, but with enough patience and dedication I am sure I will remember the lessons of my childhood. Animals are often easier to speak to than people, I find, though I often wonder what sort of commentary they would make should they gain the ability to converse as we do. I dread what my cat might tell me- perhaps she would request fresh fish and birds? She will certainly demand more curtains to tear to shreds._

_Purple is a lovely color, though I have a preference for green. I also have a fondness for sweet foods, such as apricot tarts, but of course those are a rare treat. Perhaps it is the absence of sugar that makes my stomach long for pastries?_

_Reading is one of my favorite pastimes as well. As my teacher once informed me, there is no better companion than a book. Even now I find immense pleasure in reading when I have the chance of it. There is a rather infamous novelist in Skyhold at the moment. Sometimes I think he toned down the events that help shape his work, for some of the moments I find myself swept up in seem too unbelievable even as I live them!_

_And don’t worry about not understanding those papers of mine- sometimes I read my work and don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote it! Writing about what might theoretically happen should you grow plants under artificial conditions is not easy to write- and probably not easy to read either! But if you wish to tackle it again someday, I will be happy to answer any of your questions._

_It is lovely to hear from you, Henrietta, and I look forward to reading more of your letters in the future._

_Your Aunt,_

_Evelyn Adelaide Trevelyan_

_Postscript: I am trying to find a name for my horse. She is a gray-gold colored mare with black mane and tail, up to carrying a man’s weight in light armor, and is surprisingly docile considering her size. She came with the name Lazy Bones, but she is far from lazy (as sweet as she is, she does love a good gallop). But no name seems to fit just right yet. Do you have any suggestions, Henrietta?_


	2. Chapter 2

Evelyn received a second letter a fortnight after she sent her reply. She stormed into her room after a frustrating conversation with Commander Cullen in the War Room. It was yet another argument over priorities and methodology and- well, just everything. It was made all the more frustrating because she knew that he wasn’t wrong. He was a man with years of military experience and was dedicated to keeping his soldiers alive and in one piece. He was firm and direct. And Maker knew he was trying to be patient with her. But if she heard one more slightly suspicious question from him she was going to scream!

So it was an utter joy to return from that heated meeting of minds to find a letter, sealed in sky blue wax and written with that ever so careful hand, from Henrietta. Evelyn gleefully snatched the letter up and flopped onto her bed. She sliced wax from paper, set the letter opener on the nightstand, and began to read. 

_Dear Aunt Evelyn,_

_You replied! I had hoped you would, but didn’t actually think- but you did! I’m so excited! Mother says I must try to curb my enthusiasm and control what comes out of my mouth. She says that “words, once uttered, once flown, are no more your own,” and I do try to hold my tongue, but sometimes there is a feeling or a thought that just has to fly and then it’s out in the world._

_Do you ever feel like that, Aunt Evelyn? Like it is hard to keep your words and thoughts to yourself? Mother told me that your position means you must negotiate with many “disparate parties.” Disparate means conflicting, correct? Or something close to that. I couldn’t ask many more questions, because I had to go upstairs for my arithmetic lesson, and Mother and Father don’t speak of the Inquisition in front of me. All I hear is gossip, and even that’s not as interesting as it could be. It’s a lot of “but the Inquisition’s leader is a MAGE,” and nothing about you and what you’re doing._

_What is having magic like, Aunt Evelyn? If that’s rude you don’t have to answer, but I have always been curious and no one will talk about it. Or you. Is magic truly so terrible, that everyone in the family treats it like a secret they have to keep buried? There is no one else to ask or even talk to save for you and Sunset, but she doesn’t talk back._

_Sunset is my horse. She’s a chestnut mare with a white blaze down her nose and white stockings on three of her legs (both back, and her right front leg). She is very lively and fun, though Mother thinks she is too lively for me. Father says that Trevelyans take to horses like fish take to water, and that I should learn to manage with a lively horse when I’m young. This was the one fight Father won, and I’m glad. Sunset is a dream of a horse, and I tell her everything. I told her all about writing to you, because I can’t tell Mother or Father or anyone in the family. Well, maybe Uncle Corwin will listen, but then I’m certain he will fight with Father again about it. I don’t like keeping secrets, though, so I told Sunset about your letter._

_Sunset, I said, I wrote a letter to my aunt earlier this month, and I received a letter back! And then I read it out loud to her in the stable while I combed her mane. I like to imagine that she likes listening to me read to her. I told her that you also have a horse, but that she doesn’t have a name yet. Of course Sunset didn’t reply, but the horses in the stables have many interesting names so I wrote a list! I also came up with a few of my own, because some of these names are a little silly._

_~Names for Aunt Evelyn’s Mare!~_

_\- Horses at Home-_

_Radish (radishes are his favorite snack, before that his name was Lightning or Thunder)  
Champion (Father’s charger, he’s all black with a white diamond blaze on his forehead)  
Hurricane (Champion’s son, he’s a brand new foal!)  
Wild Rose (Hurricane’s mother, she has a fiery temper and can be a bit mean)  
Darkspawn’s Bane (He’s a cart horse and _very__ lazy, but so nice!)  
Stardust (Sunset’s Mother, so beautiful! Dappled silvery coat! Mother’s mare.)  
Traveler (Sunset’s Father, brown and scarred, Father saved him!)  
Blanche (She’s what great-grandmere would call “the Grand Dame” of the stables)  
Toad (a black and white palomino pony, very silly!) 

_These were the ones I came up with!_

_Dawn_  
Dancing Water  
Sunrise  
Buttercup  
Sea Maiden  
Sea Glass 

_I tried to think of pretty things, since your horse sounds so pretty. Sea Glass is so smooth and foggy, and I like collecting all the different colors and shapes whenever Uncle Benedict comes to visit. We comb the beaches outside of Ostwick looking for shells and sea glass. He says he doesn’t get to do that when he’s in Val Royeux. He says he doesn’t talk to Mages in the White Spire, but did you ever speak with Templars in Ostwick’s Circle, Aunt Evelyn?_

_~~Why is everyone fighting anyways?~~ _

_I hope that this list is helpful, Aunt Evelyn, and I truly am glad that you wrote back to me. I hope to read another letter from you soon!_

_Lots of Love from me and Sunset,_

_Henrietta_

 

Evelyn sighed and set the letter aside. The letter was lovely, yes, and Evelyn was happy to receive it. Yet Henrietta’s questions were troubling, for they were not easy to answer. What is magic like? Do Templars and Mages speak with each other? Why is there fighting? None of these were simple, and Evelyn was certain Maxwell would be furious if she dared to answer his daughter’s queries. He would be furious that they were writing each other at all- Maxwell never wrote to her, and they lived in the same city for years!

If Evelyn was responsible, she would cease communications with Henrietta. It would be for Henrietta’s own good, really. She wouldn’t get in trouble with Maxwell for writing to her (heretical?) aunt. It would be for the best. But Evelyn was not the picture of responsibility, and… she looked down at the letter and the list of horse names. It was just so nice to write to someone who _didn’t_ see her as the Inquisitor. Henrietta seemed to only see an aunt, a possible friend and confidant, and it had been so long since anyone saw her with something other that suspicion or weighed her down with impossible expectations. All Henrietta wanted were letters from an aunt, and Evelyn wanted that too. Oh, Maker, how she wanted that!

Evelyn fiddled with the ragged split ends of her hair and stared up at the ceiling. How was she to reply to this letter? Perhaps a walk and something to occupy her thoughts would provide answers. Maybe Dorian had something she could read. Evelyn, bolstered by the thought of lively conversation and a good book, hoisted herself off the bed to head to the atrium.

-

“What’s got your small clothes in a twist, Inky?” Sera asked playfully as she quite literally hopped in through a window into Dorian’s alcove library. “Ain’t still mad about that little spat with Commander Uptight in the War Room, right?”

“Sera, feet off the table,” Dorian ordered. Sera wrinkled her nose, but scooted off the table. Evelyn curled up in her seat and tried to look utterly engrossed in the book she picked up off the shelf. Of course, she wasn’t actually reading the book. She had slipped Henrietta’s letter into the pages and was re-reading it for the fourth time this afternoon, pondering on how to best answer the questions presented. Why was everyone fighting anyways? How did you explain war to a child?

“But now that you mention it, Sera, Evelyn has been rather withdrawn and sullen today,” Dorian remarked casually, but his eyes glittered with curiosity and knowledge. Oh, drat, he knew that she wasn’t reading- she glanced at the title- “Divine Galatea’s Rise To Power.” Evelyn closed the book and braced herself for the coming conversation. It was bad enough that Dorian was going to wittily pry information from her, but Sera too?

“I got a letter from my niece this afternoon,” Evelyn said slowly. “I’m struggling with a proper response to the questions she asked, that’s all. I’m not angry about Commander Cullen-” 

“Lies,” Dorian piped up. “Dear Josephine informed me that you damn near eviscerated our handsome military leader this morning. Ever so politely, of course. Our sweet Enchanter is _never_ impolite.”

“I did not!” Evelyn protested weakly, because if she was truly honest with herself she _was_ angry, and she _was_ harsh, and Commander Cullen _had_ stirred up her temper when he gave her accusatory looks and carefully pointed words. Your Mages this, your Mages that. But she truly hadn’t been thinking about him at all! Well, only tangentially. She was thinking about Henrietta’s question, “Why is everyone fighting?” Then Evelyn thought of Commander Cullen and how they just _couldn’t_ get along, even when they were _trying_. 

“Heard you were a chilly little ice queen, Inky,” Sera chortled, and she straightened up and made a haughty expression. “That is quite enough, Commander. I will see to the Mage quarters, thank you.” Sera then collapsed on a wooden stool in a fit of raucous laughter.

“Heard he went red as a beet! That true? Wonder what he might’ve been blushin’ about,” Sera added slyly.

“How did you even hear that?” Evelyn asked. Did she really sound like that? Sera had a knack for impersonations, but that sort of powerful coldness just- was that really what she sounded like?

“Molly, she works kitchen most days but Bridget’s ankle got twisted so Molly has a temporary promotion to serving because she’s got a nice wool dress she wears for Chantry services,” Sera explained, and Evelyn frowned.

“Bridget, she’s the girl with the red-blonde hair and- isn’t she expecting? I ought to see to her,” Evelyn murmured, already rising from her chair. This was a handy excuse to leave the conversation- Commander Cullen was hardly an _easy_ topic for her to discuss. Damn the man for being handsome, double damn him for sometimes managing to be charming and clever, and damn him all the way to the Fade for being such a stubborn son of a bitch!

“Later,” Dorian interrupted, lazily laying his hand over Evelyn’s forearm to suggest that she stay in her seat. “So that explains why our strapping young Templar was so short tempered this afternoon.” 

“Ya mean his trousers got too tight?” Sera asked gleefully. “Hear that puts a man in a bad way.”

“Hmmm, he seems the sort who rises to challenges,” Dorian replied, and his smile was utterly _wicked_. “Hard-headed and all. Trousers won’t be too tight for too long.”

“Please stop, I don’t need to hear this,” Evelyn murmured. Oh Maker, the library wasn’t even enclosed, _anyone_ could hear them! What was worse was that those suggestions were putting thoughts in her head, and oh Maker she was going to burn to death of shame. It was one thing to find a man handsome, and another to actually desire him. It was a completely different thing altogether when there was a long documented shared history of abuse and resentment between their… social classes? Organizations? Whatever the case, the very last thing Evelyn needed to hear was horrible sexual innuendo about _Commander Cullen_!

“Think he’s the type who takes hard tasks in hand, Dorian?” Sera queried, and Evelyn swore that she heard Solas’s soft chuckle in the atrium below. He would find this amusing, wouldn’t he? Evelyn groaned and buried her face into her palms. Don’t think about Commander Cullen and his penis, she ordered herself as her face slowly heated up. Don’t think about him at all. Don’t think about how he’ll sometimes drill soldiers in the courtyard out of armor, or that one time you saw him washing off with his shirt stripped off and there was a trail of hair leading all the way down-

Drat and blast she was thinking about it.

“He’s a man of action for certain,” Dorian stated, “not the type to let things die down on their own accord.”

“If you two don’t stop-” Evelyn warned weakly, but it was too late. The two were in the zone and wouldn’t stop even if death was upon them.

“I doubt the Commander would appreciate this sort of gossip,” Blackwall interrupted as he passed the little library, and Evelyn almost breathed a sigh of relief until she caught the glimmer of mischief in those bright blue-grey eyes. Oh no, she realized all too late. She had forgotten that Blackwall was as bad as Sera when it came to sex jokes- but he had years of experience in making them. Oh no.

“But if I were to place a wager, he’s the type who lives to serve,” Blackwall announced gravely.

“I KNEW HE WAS A SERVICE TOP!” Sera exclaimed, her words echoing in the building. Leliana’s ravens cawed loudly in response.

“SERA!” Evelyn cried as Dorian and Sera roared with laughter, and Evelyn _knew_ Solas was laughing as well. “Sera that is- is inappropriate and- and- and just- no!”

“I think Sera has the right of it,” Solas called out from below, erasing any plausible deniability of his eavesdropping.

“I’m leaving,” Evelyn said abruptly, and she stood up, book in hand. “You are all terrible. You too, Solas!”

“I appear to find myself in good company,” Solas retorted, his mellow voice soothing and bringing a small smile to her face. Once she got over the embarrassment and the _feelings_ those thoughts caused, she’d find this conversation funny. Eventually.

“See you at the Tavern, right?” Sera asked anxiously. “You ain’t too mad, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be there as soon as I can look at you all without flushing,” Evelyn said as she made her way out of the alcove.

“Might be a while then,” Blackwall observed. “Lookin’ a bit like a ripe tomato at the moment.”

“I’m not sure, Blackwall,” Dorian drawled. “That shade seems closer to Commander Cullen’s surcoat. Lovely shade of burgundy, don’t you think?”

“Dorian! You are- are-” Evelyn sputtered.

“Dashing? Charming? Quick-witted? Handsome?” Dorian replied with a smile. “All that and more, dear.”

“Incorrigible!” Evelyn exclaimed with a laugh, because being angry with Dorian only ever lasted for a moment. She left the alcove with a smile, even though her face felt as if it was sunburned. The conversation and banter lifted her spirits and, though the topic embarrassed her, made her think as well. 

She and Commander Cullen would probably always have disagreements. Some people simply didn’t get along, no matter how hard they tried. When it came down to it, they just didn’t have anything in common. He was firm and boldly honest in his assertions and believed in absolutes, while she- she was used to negotiating and compromise and hiding her thoughts under a mask. They were just too different to be friends, and even as she admired his forthrightness she found herself frustrated with his stubborn nature. 

It didn’t help that she found Commander Cullen attractive. How was she supposed to work with him if she could barely look him in the eyes? And with Dorian and the others so aware of her less than noble thoughts and feelings… well, it was no wonder that their conversations were so stilted and awkward. But there were more important things to be worried about. Weren’t they both trying to end a war and stop a man from unleashing more chaos into the world? Maybe she couldn’t explain warfare to Henrietta, but she could say that the subject was complex, and that war was not what _everyone_ wanted.

It might not be a good enough answer, but it was the best Evelyn could do.

As she walked through the courtyard, Evelyn made a quick detour to the garden. There were some cuttings she was interested in seeing, and besides that… she quickly looked over at the chess board that was _still_ set up on that table in the cloister. Her pawn was still sitting out there at d4, gleaming white in the shadows. But something was different. As Evelyn approached, she realized that something had changed on the board. Someone moved a piece. The black king’s knight leaped over the row of pawns to take its place at f6.

Someone was playing a chess match with her.

Evelyn grinned and, after a moment’s thought, moved another pawn up to c4 to join its comrade. Conventional, yes, but it gave her more control of the center of the board and would let her move her queen’s knight into position. Nothing wrong with convention, was there?

“Lets see what you do with _that_ ,” Evelyn murmured to her absent opponent, and she headed back to her room to write.

-

_Dear Henrietta,_

_It is lovely to read another letter from you. It’s refreshing to read a letter from Ostwick instead of a formal invitation to some event that I won’t attend. I haven’t been to any sort of party since I was eight years old, and the expected behaviors of young girls is quite different from those of grown women, I’m afraid. The Inquisition’s ambassador, Lady Montilyet, despairs over my rustic manners. But when one has spent most of their life using one fork, one spoon, and one knife, it is rather difficult to learn how to use an oyster fork (or even where it is on the table)! At least I will not be forced to produce a sewing sampler. When I worked in the Circle infirmary it was easy enough to stitch up wounds, but if I do it in a piece of cloth? What I learned just flies from my head. Truly I am a terrible lady. Perhaps you could impart some wisdom to your rather hopeless aunt?_

_Your mother sounds like a wise woman. Hastily spoken words are hard to take back and hard for others to forget. Being careful with what you say and to whom is incredibly important. I do find it difficult to hold my tongue sometimes, but I remind myself to open my ears and listen before speaking. Sometimes that is difficult. Sometimes I still speak hastily and make mistakes, but practice makes perfect in most endeavors._

_Your mother is also right about the trials I find myself facing. Disparate means something closer to ‘contrast’ than ‘conflict,’ but the people I speak to are often in conflict. They see each other as so alien, so different from themselves, that there can be no understanding between them. The war between Mages and Templars is only one example of this divide, for there are more examples of mistreatment and misunderstanding throughout the land that stretch back ages, far before you or I or our grandparents and great grandparents were born. The divides between the people of Thedas run deep, Henrietta, but it is my hope that we can heal these breaches and begin to make amends. There are few people who **want** a war, but the way things have been is unsustainable._

_I hope that, as a Mage, I can show the people of Thedas that Mages and magic are nothing to fear. Magic is a part of me like my arms and legs. It is like the hair on my head or the freckles on my nose. I won’t deny that magic can be a powerful and useful tool (I have often used magic to reheat my tea when it goes cold), but it is only a part of who I am. Magic isn’t terrible. It isn’t good or bad. It doesn’t make me divine or dreadful. Magic simply is._

_Your Uncle Benedict’s experience of the White Spire is similar to my own in Ostwick’s Circle. Mages and Templars are encouraged to keep their contact with each other to a minimum. The Templars are supposed to be keeping a careful eye on the Mages, and the Mages are not too keen to make friends with the people they view as jailers. The set-up is not one that produces many friendships between the two groups, but I hope that times are changing. There are both Mages and Templars within the Inquisition, learning to work side by side, and one of my own advisers is a Templar. He left his order to join with the Divine’s Left and Right Hands at the Conclave in Haven, but he was a Templar much of his life. While it is hard work for us to find common ground (I believe he finds me inconstant, perhaps mercurial), we are doing our best. I believe that that is all we can do: our very best._

_Speaking of friendships, I have made a few surprising friends within the Inquisition. The famous novelist I wrote about in my last letter brought his even more infamous friend to Skyhold! It isn’t often that one speaks with a legend, but I think I managed the conversation well enough. I didn’t gawk, so I’m sure I held myself well. With the comings and goings of several impressive figures, I really must practice looking aloof and unruffled. Ah, if only I remembered your great-grandmother’s deportment lessons. Something about stiff upper lips and cool tones, I believe, but that may just be the way things are done in Val Royeux, and no one will expect that of an Ostwick woman._

_Your mentioning of sea glass makes me miss Ostwick. The world is a wide, wonderful, fascinating place, but I have yet to find a beach with the quantities of sea glass that Ostwick has. I used to look for matching shades of green whenever I visited the beaches. I had some idea of making a jewelry set out of the glass, but I could never find a close enough match in color or size. But the searching is half the fun, is it not? I used to collect flowers and press them in books as a hobby. I suppose I came into my love of plants young. Your grandmother was furious when I would come into the house covered in mud! But I had my quiet hobbies as well. Reading was always a welcome respite, and when I could find someone to play with me I enjoyed a game of chess. Still do, though I am sorely out of practice. Someone left their lovely set out in the garden, and I am now engaged in a game with an unknown opponent. We shall see who the victor is eventually, I am sure._

_Your Most Curious Aunt,_

_Evelyn_

_Postscript: All of the names you have suggested are delightful, but I find myself particularly drawn to Buttercup. I am practicing the name with my mare, and she responds to it so I hope she approves. It does fit in with a naming theme, for my cat’s name is Blackberry. Blackberry and Buttercup, Buttercup and Blackberry. Quite the duo, don’t you think? We (Blackberry the cat, Buttercup the horse, and Evelyn (your aunt)) send you and Sunset our love. Bushels of it._


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Aunt Evelyn,_

_I wish I could say I knew more about etiquette, but grandmother says that I’m a disaster! The worst she has ever seen, which must be simply dreadful. I can’t even curtsy properly. I wobble and wince and just can’t get it right! I’m too tall, you see, and everything I do is awkward. If I had auburn hair like Mother and was just a little shorter, I’m sure I could curtsy wonderfully. But no, my hair is curly and orange and never looks right, and I’m so tall I tower over all the boys and girls my age. It is humiliating!_

_Is it shameful that I am relieved that you are going through the same trials as I, Aunt Evelyn? There is something so comforting about not being alone. I got blood all over my sewing sampler because I pricked my fingers so many times. ~~I wanted to burn it but I think mother saved it from the fireplace.~~ _

_Thank you for writing to me about magic, and what you do with the Inquisition. I know that you didn’t tell me everything, but I feel better. I know more than I did, and that’s better than knowing nothing. I hope that your Templar adviser will be nicer to you- you aren’t mercurial at all! I asked my governess what that meant, I hope you don’t mind. If I was at Skyhold I would tell him that! That would be rude, of course, and I’m a very proper young noblewoman, but I would do it! You wouldn’t be too mad at me, would you, Aunt Evelyn? If I were a boy I could say I was defending your honor and reputation, and challenge him to a duel, like the Antivans do! Wouldn’t that be exciting? Mother would say that I should use my words, that words are the weapons and tools we should first pick up, but making a speech sounds incredibly dull. A duel sounds much more exciting._

_What’s even more exciting is your friend! I didn’t realize that you’re friends with Varric Tethras, Aunt Evelyn! He’s FAMOUS! And you met the Champion?! Of Kirkwall?! And the Right and Left Hands of the Divine?! Who else do you know in the Inquisition?! It sounds amazing! I wish I could visit, but a letter is very good too. Where have you traveled, Aunt Evelyn? Who have you met? Having adventures all across Southern Thedas sounds like a dream! I can’t wait to read about them._

_Your (Very Impatient) Niece,_

_Henrietta_

_Postscript: I’m going to find some sea glass for you, Aunt Evelyn. Do you like dark green or light green best?_

_Postscript Postscript: Sunset and I send our love back._

-

“Inquisitor? Inquisitor, if I may have a moment,” Josephine said, startling Evelyn from her seat on the sun warmed stones of the crumbling wall in front of the war room. A messenger came with Henrietta’s letter right as she was leaving the morning meeting, and Evelyn eagerly dove into reading it the moment she could. Henrietta’s chatty letters were a welcome respite from the stresses of the day. Evelyn lost herself in the words, if only for a moment. The moment seemed to be over, however. Evelyn waited for Josephine to speak.

“I apologize, I’m encroaching on your private moments, but…” Josephine trailed off expectantly. Privacy was a precious commodity in Skyhold, after all.

 

“It’s no trouble,” Evelyn replied as she slipped off the stones and tucked Henrietta’s letter into her pocket. “What is it that you need?”

“It… perhaps this will be easier to speak of in my office?” Josephine suggested, and Evelyn dutifully followed her down the hall. The moment Josephine ushered her inside Evelyn’s heart sank, for Leliana and Vivienne were waiting inside, sitting on plush seats with tea cups in hand and a full set on the low tea table before them. The sound of the heavy oak door shutting behind her was incredibly sinister.

“Now that we are all gathered,” Josephine announced proudly as Evelyn desperately tried to come up with an excuse to escape. “I believe we have an important matter to discuss.”

“Yes, Josie, one of vital importance,” Leliana added, and her expression and tone were so utterly devoid of emotion that Evelyn had no idea if she should brace herself for the worst or hope for the best. Even Vivienne’s cool, collected demeanor revealed nothing. Evelyn was floundering and clueless, which was how she usually felt around these three painfully elegant women. She felt sweaty, grubby, unpolished, and childlike next to them. Even as she took a seat on the rose-colored damask cushions of the love seat, Evelyn felt silly. Were there dirt stains on her knees? She was re-potting those herbs in the garden that morning, right before she was called into that meeting. Was her hair a mess? No, she had braided it tightly, it should be neat- oh Maker she had dirt on her nose, didn’t she? She had dirt on her nose and no one said a word, and now Josephine put together this small gathering to lecture her on her slovenly appearance-

“Do relax, my dear,” Vivienne chided gently. “We aren’t planning to eat you.”

“It is a simple tea party, Inquisitor. And discussion,” Josephine added as she poured tea into a delicately patterned tea cup. “Unfortunately Cassandra could not make it, but we will make do.” She offered the cup on a matching saucer to Evelyn. Evelyn took it carefully and cradled it in her hands.

“Perhaps it is a good thing Commander Cullen ignored my message,” Leliana mused. “I can’t think of anything he would despise more than discussing _clothing_.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne remarked. “The Commander has been blessed with dashing good looks and rather drab Ferelden sensibilities.”

“I… beg your pardon, but is this conversation about… clothing?” Evelyn murmured. Josephine winced, and Evelyn’s heart sank. This was about her wardrobe, wasn’t it?

“I will be frank, Inquisitor. I understand that life in Ostwick Circle was… simple, and that with our thin resources clothing should be the last issue on our docket, but… your wardrobe…” Josephine seemed to struggle with selecting the most diplomatic words to describe Evelyn’s clothing.

“Is hideous,” Leliana interrupted, and Evelyn grimaced before looking down at her brown and beige leggings and tunic. It wasn’t fashionable, certainly, but it was _functional_ , and considering that what was truly hers could fit into one sack- did she even own any of her clothing?Other than what she wore when she was dragged out of the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, everything she had was borrowed, re-fitted, found, or bought _for_ her. None of it was hers.

Oh Maker, Evelyn realized with a tendril of dread working it’s way up her back, she didn’t own a stitch of clothing that she actually liked. She didn’t own any clothing! What would happen once all of this was over, when the rifts were closed and Corypheus dealt with? What would happen to her?

“Your wardrobe certainly does you no favors, my dear,” Vivienne stated, pulling Evelyn from the spiral of panic she was quickly descending.

“It’s practical,” Evelyn protested weakly, for there was nothing else to add. Her clothing wasn’t even _hers_. The critique shouldn’t have stung, but it did. She wasn’t elegant or self-assured or anything that the Inquisition required in a leader. She was only Inquisitor because they needed someone, and she was the convenient figure head. If they had anyone else…

“It’s what is available,” Evelyn said. “It works.”

“It is utterly unfitting of the leader of the Inquisition,” Vivienne retorted. “And it is time to change that.”

“Before we had to make do,” Josephine interrupted diplomatically. “But we have enough funds, and enough time, to craft a wardrobe worthy of the Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor. Not Evelyn Trevelyan, Ostwick Enchanter. The Inquisitor. She wouldn’t be wearing the clothes so much as the clothes would be wearing her. But what was she expecting, really? She would simply have to grin and bear it, like the Templar banner hanging in front of her quarters, like the whispers in the halls, like the looks of awe and fear and disgust and suspicion, like every suspicious word that fell out of Commander Cullen’s mouth. Grin and bear it and hope that the next day won’t be worse. Maybe, if Evelyn was lucky, she wouldn’t be shoved into an outfit covered in Seeker and Templar symbols. She would have to make use of Chantry heraldry, and probably wear scarlet and-

No.

No, she wasn’t going to let them cajole and bully her into their idea of proper clothing. Perhaps this was silly, to get riled up over clothing, but if she was going to put an outfit on she was going to have some measure of control over it. Maybe this was a wardrobe for an Inquisitor, but she was the Inquisitor. She was who they had and- Evelyn bit back a smile- she was Henrietta Evelyn Trevelyan’s adventurous heretical aunt, who knew the novelist Varric Tethras and met the Champion of Kirkwall and faced off against hordes of demons! Perhaps Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne were more terrifying than demons, but they could be reasoned with.

It wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Keep it small,” Evelyn said firmly. “Only four outfits, we can’t afford any excess. A new wardrobe is not going to put food in mouths.”

“We were planning something closer to ten,” Leliana replied. She sounded mildly surprised, which in turn surprised Evelyn. Leliana wasn’t someone who was easily shocked by anything.

“Five, then,” Evelyn amended. “I will handle my own armor and casual clothing. Formal garments will be your domain.” She was going to have something that was truly hers, Andraste help her, even if it was something as simple as a blouse or a leather breastplate!

“Five outfits are hardly enough for the events you will have to preside over,” Josephine stated, her tone gentle. Persuasive. Evelyn might not have the training and skills of a diplomat, but she would not bend. Not on this.

“Then they will have to be multi-functional, won’t they? We can’t afford to purchase silk and velvet when our people need a roof over their heads that doesn’t leak,” Evelyn retorted. The room was silent, and Evelyn nearly winced. So much for holding her tongue. Those words were no longer her own, were they?

“Think of it as a challenge,” she suggested to break the awkward silence.

“A challenge, my dear?” Vivienne’s tone was light and teasing. “You threw down the gauntlet.”

“I accept,” Leliana said, which sounded both like a joke and a promise. Fortunately the remark eased the tension in the room, and Josephine lifted a small wooden chest off the floor and pried it open to reveal a veritable flood of fabric scraps and bits.

“Samples,” she explained. “I think we must get started, if we are to have any chance of creating something that meets your approval and ours.”

“I hope this won’t be as difficult as you imply,” Evelyn replied before she poured herself another cup of tea and braced for the unpleasantness ahead.

-

It was not a disaster. Oh, they had disagreements and Evelyn was subjected to several lectures (“Why is this fabric so expensive?” “My dear, that is the cost.”), but it was…

Having tea was rather lovely, truth be told. There was something to be said about tea and conversation, and Evelyn certainly learned something new about clothing and outfit composition. But after two hours of staring at fabric, thread, feathers, and fur, Evelyn was about to lose her mind. Before this afternoon she would have never believed anyone could make a ball gown so complicated. She had to consider ruffles on skirts and blouses. Would wearing silk be economical, or should most of these outfits be made of more sturdy fabric? They had to consider dye lots if they planned on purchasing multiple bolts of fabric. And what about color coordination? Her wardrobe had to have some sort of cohesive theming. And of course they had to consider seasons and the latest fashions. Also, where was she to wear what outfits and when? Then there were the Andraste Cursed hats and gloves and various baubles that made Evelyn’s head spin!

“We must nail down the silhouette of the court presentation gown,” Josephine insisted. “Following Orlesian trends would flatter the nobility in the Winter Palace, but it could also insult them.”

“The court is whimsical that way,” Leliana agreed.

“No Orlesian ball gown, she will be buried in the layers and petticoats. The trumpet style skirt would be more appropriate, but as that’s a predominately Ferelden style it may offend those at court…” Vivienne mused, and the other women sighed in what sounded like resigned agreement.

“Isn’t this all a bit premature? We haven’t an invitation to Halamshiral yet,” Evelyn protested, but Josephine waved her hand dismissively.

“We will worry about the invitation,” Leliana said, and Vivienne chuckled lowly.

“They wouldn’t dare refuse us an invitation by the time the next great ball comes around in a few months, my dear,” Vivienne added, and she, Josephine, and Leliana engaged in another debate over dress styles for _one_ ball gown. This was more tedious than any war meeting, Evelyn thought. No wonder Cassandra made herself scarce, and Commander Cullen _was_ wise to ignore Leliana’s summons. If she could just find a way to leave!

When Josephine’s office door opened with a loud creak, Evelyn nearly jumped out of her chair in her eagerness to find an excuse to escape. Please be a messenger, Evelyn prayed. Please be a messenger with some sort of urgent task for me. Please be Dorian with a breakthrough on Corypheus. Please be Dagna with information on red lyrium, please be someone- anyone!- who will grant me a graceful exit.

It was Commander Cullen, who looked slightly alarmed as he gazed down at the table covered in tea things and fabric scraps. Well, it wasn’t who she would choose, but any port in a storm.

“Why Commander! So pleasant of you to drop by!” Josephine exclaimed politely. “Please, won’t you sit down and join us?”

“I, ah-” Cullen said, his eyes darting from the tea cups to the fabric to the collection of women sitting around the table. “I am rather busy at the moment-” Evelyn hastily set her tea saucer and cup down on the table.

“I just remembered that I promised to speak with the Commander today,” Evelyn interrupted, because if this was her only chance to escape then she was taking it. “I’m so sorry, I let the time get away from me. If you’ll excuse me. Commander Cullen, I am sorry for my forgetfulness.” Evelyn added a hasty little curtsy before crossing the room towards the door and freedom.

“I… see,” Cullen replied, sounding utterly baffled which was _not helping_ , but Evelyn committed to the lie and would carry it by herself if she had to. As she hurried down the hall she heard Leliana’s voice drift after her.

“I do believe you should hurry, Commander,” she said. “The Inquisitor is liable to throw herself off the mountain at that pace.”

“Ah, and now he’s running,” Josephine commented, her laugh floating out of the door and down the hall.

“They could pretend to be discreet-” Vivienne’s voice was faint, and when the door swung closed Evelyn could no longer hear her. 

Evelyn turned a corner in the hall and breathed out a sigh of relief. Freedom! She leaned back against the wall and shut her eyes. The coolness of the stone seeped through her wool tunic and into her skin. Peace. Just a moment to gather herself, she’d apologize for dragging Commander Cullen into her lie, and (ugh) she would have to thank the man for his timely rescue, and he’d probably be suspicious of her and start asking questions, and she’d snap at him and he’d snap back and they’d storm off to their respective hiding spots, nursing their hurts and-

“Inquisitor? Are you well?” Cullen asked. His tone was surprisingly gentle, which made Evelyn open her eyes to look at him.

“Fine. I’m fine, just…” Evelyn searched for a proper word. “Overwhelmed.”

“It appeared to be an intense conversation,” he eventually said, and he smiled at her. Were those dimples? Oh Maker he had dimples when he smiled. It was a good thing he didn’t do that often because if he had Evelyn was certain she would behave like a fool if Commander Cullen _smiled_ at her whenever they met.

Maker she was an idiot, the man _hated_ her! Maybe not hate, but he didn’t like her. Oh no he was staring at her, she needed to say something. What should she say? What should she do?

“It was about my wardrobe,” Evelyn explained. “Apparently the Inquisitor needs a formal wardrobe, and that was an ambush of sorts.”

“Oh Maker, they got to you as well?”

“You too?”

“Yes!” Cullen exclaimed, and there was that smile again, along with a short bark of laughter. He had a nice laugh, low and rich, and it made Evelyn want to laugh as well.

“They wanted to talk about _lace_. Lace! They wanted ten new formal outfits!” Evelyn said with a grin. “Where am I supposed to wear all that?”

“Isn’t that excessive?” Cullen asked.

“I brought it down to five, we can’t have that much coin to spare,” Evelyn murmured, and she pulled herself away from the wall. Henrietta would enjoy this, she thought, and the idea made her smile. She knew what would amuse her niece! She had to write today’s events down, while they were fresh in her mind.

“Economical,” Cullen remarked as he followed her down the hall and a short series of steps to reach a door leading out of the fortress and into the main courtyard and some fresh air. Walking next to him was a bit strange. Not unpleasant, but strange. He was taller than her, his strides longer, and she occasionally had to skip to keep up with him.

“I try to be. Money is… well, it’s difficult. I’m still trying to understand the cost of things,” Evelyn confessed. “Was that… ever a problem for you?”

That question made him stop at the bottom of the stairs. He looked back up at her, his expression somewhat surprised. And why wouldn’t he be? Evelyn took extra pains to not bring up his past as a Templar unless absolutely necessary. She didn’t acknowledge the divide of hurt and history. She didn’t ask questions. She generally tried to be civil when they interacted and pretended he didn’t exists otherwise. And wasn’t that just falling back into old patterns and bad habits?

It was time to try something new. It was time to ask questions.

“I… no,” he replied. “No, but I joined the Templars at an older age than most recruits.”

“Oh. That does change things,” Evelyn murmured.

“I suppose so,” Cullen acknowledged, and the silence that fell between them was as awkward as ever. So much for asking questions. Stupid idea, really. He probably wasn’t interested in rehashing old history and working through the past, what was she thinking?! Evelyn was going to have to apologize for being intrusive and insensitive, Andraste’s Tits she was an idiot! Well, no point in delaying the awkwardness. She would have to apologize. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Commander-

“Inquisitor-”

“Excuse me, I-”

“No, you first,” Cullen insisted.

“I want to apologize for being short with you,” Evelyn blurted out. “I- you- we are trying our best to get along, and I know I can be difficult. Thank you for being patient with me.” She stood on the third step up from the ground, feeling a bit childish and foolish as she waited for a response of some kind. She shouldn’t have said a word, she should have said a polite farewell and gone her separate way, but now- well now she had to wait. She made herself vulnerable to a Templar- former Templar, he wasn’t a Templar anymore, try to have a little faith in his word- and she was going to pay for it, wasn’t she?

But when she actually looked at Cullen, _really_ looked, Evelyn saw that his expression was curiously open. And there was that _smile_ again, which was still disconcerting. He was smiling! At her! Damn the man for being handsome, because she went weak at the knees when he smiled.

“No, I- there’s nothing to thank me for. I have been harsher than is fair. I wanted to apologize for being short with you in the past. I was being… it was uncharitable of me to think the worst of you,” Cullen said. “As you said, we are trying. I will keep my temper in check in the future.”

“I accept your apology,” she replied. “Thank you, Commander.” Oh Maker, that was a really apology, wasn’t it? It was a true apology, with a promise to improve in the future- oh Maker, he looked slightly hopeful and sweet, his brown eyes cautiously… friendly? Oh Maker what was she supposed to do?!

“I hope we can get along better in the future,” Evelyn added, and his smile was infectious.

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he responded. “If there is anything else I can do-”

“No, I’ll just walk in the garden for a bit. I do have a letter to write. Goodbye,” Evelyn said, and she hurriedly stepped off the stairs before she said something silly because he was smiling again and that was just not acceptable.

As Evelyn briskly walked through the garden to cool her flushed face and calm down, she scolded herself for her infatuation. Commander Cullen wasn’t interested in making friends, and he was definitely not flirting with her. He is working together because they _had to_. He’s was still a Templar, she was still a Mage, and that was a past that would not disappear because of a handsome smile and lovely laugh.

“I am an idiot,” Evelyn muttered. She didn’t have _time_ to be infatuated by a handsome face. She had to clear out her room and move her things into the newly refurbished chambers she was supposed to sleep in. She had to plan and pack for the next voyage into Crestwood to close a rift. She had to… Evelyn glanced over to the chess board in the garden out of habit. She already looked this morning, and nothing had changed, but now...

“Black pawn to e6,” Evelyn whispered. “Standard, an attempt to control the center of the board.” It was a standard move for a reason, after all. Evelyn hesitantly took a pawn in hand, paused, and moved her hand to the knight piece. Yes. Yes, that was what she wanted to do. Knight to f3. She still held the piece in her fingers. If she let go, the play would end, and she’d have to wait for her opponent’s next move. Though, really, she could get away with moving the pieces whenever she pleased, couldn’t she? It wasn’t as if they were seated across the board, unless… Evelyn glanced around, searching for anyone who was watching her.

But no one was there. Evelyn let go of the knight and stepped away from the board and the temptation of moving her piece back and trying something new. It was a good move. Standard. It was fine. Fine! She was not going to cheat in this game, even if no one would have known. Her mystery opponent (or perhaps opponents?) wouldn’t know that she broke the rules. But she would know, and that was… she had never had to cheat at chess to win, even against Lawrence. She wasn’t about to start now. Evelyn smiled and headed back to her bedroom to pack up her belongings and write a letter.

Henrietta would love to know about this mystery chess game.  
-

_Dear Henrietta,_

_Your letter came at the most opportune moment, Henrietta, for several of my advisers and companions gathered together to discuss the state of my wardrobe. Ambassador Montilyet diplomatically called it rustic, but the others had harsher words in store. Regardless, I spent an entire tea service planning out several new outfits and was sufficiently overwhelmed by the entire process. I confess, I had no idea there were so many rules regarding fashion! Did you know that the latest trend in Orlais is rabbit fur trim? Not for warmth, I’m told, but for the texture. I firmly said no to rabbit fur. It might be chilly in Skyhold, but wool is not only cheaper, but far more practical. I am so used to plain robes and leggings that even the subject of embroidered designs on a tunic flusters me, but I believe I held my own quite well! I can safely say that if I never see a swatch of silk again I will be a very, very happy woman. Green may be my favorite color (in particular dark greens), but I have learned so much about dye lots that my head is spinning! I fear I make for a rather unfashionable aunt, Henrietta, for I can hardly recall the different shades of white and cream I was introduced to over tea!_

_In the end I was rescued from the tea by none other than the Commander of the Inquisition’s armed forces. I don’t know who was more surprised by this turn of events, but I am grateful for his timely intervention (Madame de Fer was broaching the topic of hats). I believe you will be mollified, Henrietta, for the Commander apologized to me and there is no need to challenge him to a duel over my honor. Perhaps a duel would be an exciting adventure, but as we are all trying to get along I do need him whole and uninjured._

_The people who arrive at Skyhold never cease to amaze me, Henrietta. I’ve told you of Varric Tethras, Seeker Pentaghast, and Lady Leliana, as well as the Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke, but there are so many other fascinating people that it feels like I have stepped into a storybook. Everyone here has hidden depths, and I have formed friendships I would have never dreamed of before arriving in the south._

_One of my closest friends in Skyhold is a Tevinter Mage. He’s intelligent, clever, and incredibly kind under his sarcastic veneer. There’s a young elvhen woman who joined the Inquisition as an archer, and she tries to keep the nobility humble in her own chaotic ways. She’s also hilarious, and delights in small, harmless pranks. I once found the steps in front of my room covered in small glasses full of water. There is a Qunari man who leads a mercenary group and charges into battle with utter delight, but he is also remarkably perceptive and gentle under the tough exterior. Truly, they (and all of the people I have met) are fascinating and complex, and I’m glad I have the chance to know them._

_I do have a mystery on my hands, however, one that may interest you. The chess game in the garden continues, and I’m growing increasingly more curious over the identity of my opponent. While several of my companions play the game, I am unable to discover who is playing with me. They are a rather traditional player, as far as I can tell, and seem rather straightforward in their strategy. Perhaps I will spy on the garden and see who is playing this game! I simply need to find the time to do that._

_I will journey to Crestwood in a few days, so I must conclude this letter if I want to send it before I leave. I hope my letter reaches you quickly, and when I return to Skyhold I promise to write all about the adventures I’ve had and sights I’ve seen._

_Your Exhausted Aunt,_

_Evelyn_

_Postscript- Lady Montilyet sent a runner with silk sample scraps for an evening gown and instructions to ‘select my favorites of the lot.’ I may have screamed into a pillow. I have enclosed a bit of each sample in the letter so you can see what I’m dealing with. Henrietta, they are all the same shade of green!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Aunt Evelyn,_

_I snuck into Father’s study to look at a map of southern Thedas. I had no idea that Crestwood was so small, or that Ferelden was so very vast. I suppose everything looks large compared to Ostwick, but it was still a surprise to look at that map and realize that you’ve traveled _all across it_!!!_

_~~I wish I could do that too.~~ _

_Mother and I shop for fabric every spring and fall for new formal gowns. Most of the time we alter what we already have, but as I keep _growing_ I have to get a few new dresses. I can’t keep letting the hem out when there’s no more hem left! It’s exhausting if we go with Grandmother, but Mother and I have a fun time when it’s just us. If you were with us we’d make a day of it! But I’m sure the fashion rules are very different for an Inquisitor- it must be very complicated to order a wardrobe without offending anyone! I think green is a safe color- it is part of the family crest, so Mother says I can wear it whenever I please. I don’t see why you can’t. I don’t mind that you’re unfashionable, Aunt Evelyn. Neither will Mother. We can teach you everything you need to know about fashion, don’t worry! Mother says that there isn’t a person alive who can’t be taught!_

_I sent your scraps of silk back, and pinned their corresponding colors. You’re very lucky, for I ordered a court dress in emerald green recently! I know the precise colors of the fabric samples in both Common and Orlesian! Isn’t that lucky? Now you just have to worry about the fur trim (and the hats)!_

_But how cold _is_ it at Skyhold? Do you really need so much fur to stay warm? Wouldn’t it get heavy if it got wet? And the smell! Though wet wool doesn’t smell any better, if we’re being honest. I suppose you’ll just have to stay dry, Aunt Evelyn, or you’ll smell like a wet dog and your advisors will begin to order perfumes for you. Mother says I’m too young for perfume and other cosmetics, even though some of the other girls my age use rouge and kohl. I wish I could use some kohl, just a little, so I could look mysterious and lovely. Being tall wouldn’t be such a hardship if I was also divinely beautiful, but I think Father would lock me up in the cellars if I dared dabble in the cosmetic pots. He is already angry that I took the rowboat out on the lake during stormy weather, and I don’t think he will be pleased with anymore “willful disobedience.” But it was just a little squall, really, and nothing happened! But I’ve been banned from riding Sunset for a fortnight, which is wretchedly unfair._

_On happier notes, I’m glad your Commander has apologized to you. A duel might be exciting, but I’m not a skilled swordswoman (I’m much better with a bow), and he would be a good deal more talented with a blade than I. I think Uncle Benedict met him before- he said that Knight Captain Cullen was a skilled combatant and clever mind when he was with the Templars. And I won’t have to scold him for his poor manners. Wouldn’t that be funny, scolding a fully grown knight on his chivalry? Especially as I am always in trouble for my boorish manners. “Lady Henrietta,” Grandmother will say, “what _will_ people say?!” But Grandmother has been less critical of late. She seems awfully distracted by news of the Inquisition and your role in it, and all her criticisms have been related to the rumors we hear in Ostwick. It’s a great joke to know that _I_ have information from the source, as it were!_

_We’ve all heard about your friend from Tevinter, though Grandmother insists that he’s really the Black Divine in disguise. Do you think he is? Wouldn’t that be a surprise! I didn’t know about your elf friend, though. She sounds like fun! And a Qunari mercenary? What an exciting life you have, Aunt Evelyn! I wish I could have adventures like you do- even small mysteries like your chess game are so much more entertaining than practicing my penmanship! I find that I often lose track of what I am writing and eventually I end up sketching horses running wild across the page! It is extremely vexing._

_Mother just sent for me, so I have to leave this letter for now. I hope it reaches you safely, and that you stay safe on your travels._

_Your (Currently Grounded) Adventurous Niece,_

_Henrietta_

_Postscript: If I wanted to catch a mystery chess player, I’d hide up in a tree and watch the board. But that would be awfully undignified and you might get very stiff sitting up there for a long time._

_-_

Evelyn chuckled as she spread out the variety of green silk scraps on the tea table before her. Each one had a scrap of paper pinned to it that indicated the color: Fern. Tea Green. Laurel Green. Sage. Perhaps she had exaggerated when she wrote that they were the same color, for in the bright afternoon light it was clear that the shades _were_ different. 

"I would still be lost without a guide,” Evelyn remarked to Blackberry, who lazily batted at a yarn ball on the floor. Where had Blackberry even found that ball of yarn? Evelyn shrugged and stood up from the armchair. She stretched her back, her right arm held close to her body in a sling, and her muscles ached in a way that was _just short_ of painful. Then she stretched just a little too far, reached too far, and her ribs twinged in a short, sharp burst of pain. 

“Shit!” Evelyn hissed as she clutched her left side and collapsed back into the chair. Fear demon. Broken ribs, broken arm, bruises everywhere. Solas managed to set the bones on the field before the healers back at the base camp took a look. But even then the bones had to knit itself back together over time. The memory of the break remained, even when the injury was mostly repaired. That was the disadvantage of healing with magic, Evelyn thought wryly. The injury was gone, but the body remembered. And right now her body was screaming at her for being so utterly stupid as to face off against a demon while exhausted. Not only was she stupid enough to do that, but then she decided to slam herself into the creature to get it off Dorian, who had been hit across the head and was lying dazed in the dirt and mud. Evelyn hadn’t even thought of what to do. She simply moved, screaming something before she lowered her shoulder and rammed it into the gut of the fear demon. It was stunned for only a moment before she was slapped into the ground and lay like a stunned bird that flew into a window. 

It was incredibly foolish of her to try and fight a demon with nothing but a stick and her body. They were all lucky that Blackwall inserted himself between them, and that Solas was there to heal and shield them while they got back on their feet. And she was grateful that no one mentioned the incident beyond “injuries in the heat of battle,” though Blackwall and Dorian nearly scolded her ears off at camp. Solas was quiet, though he suggested that Evelyn should wear heavier armor if she was planning on throwing herself into enemies. He slyly added that she add spikes to inflict more damage. 

“Won’t be wearing anything heavy for a while,” Evelyn muttered. Everything felt just a little too sore. She gingerly curled up against the armrest and waited for the little shocks of pain to subside. Maybe she would wait before heading down to the garden to check on her chess game. There were so many eyes on her, and if she looked weak… 

“Hey, Boss? You up there?” Bull’s booming voice echoed off the walls and rattled uncomfortably in the mostly empty space. These new quarters were entirely too large, though someone (probably Josephine) had tried to fill the cavernous space with all the standard comforts- bed, armchairs, table, wall hangings, carpet, trunks, and, of course, a large desk. Yet the room was still woefully bare, too large and empty and horribly, horribly lonely. Evelyn thanked the Maker for Blackberry and the constant stream of visitors that barged into the room. It didn’t feel nearly so empty when there were people around. 

“Yes, just reading some letters, is anything wrong?” Evelyn called back. She watched as Bull walked up the stairs- horns first, then head, massive shoulders, torso, legs, and, finally, his feet. He looked over her curled up in the armchair with his one eye, and it was a little unnerving. Evelyn saw how The Iron Bull looked her over, poured over his collected knowledge, and confirmed what he had already heard with that one short look. Inquisitor Trevelyan injured in battle, still recuperating, not up to travel for the next week. Was he going to write to the Qunari leadership about this latest blunder of hers? Probably. That was a silly thing to wonder. But Bull just smiled and leaned against the mantle of the massive stone fireplace. 

“Nah, thought I’d check on you. Cullen’s in a bad mood, won’t say why, figured it was-” Bull gestured vaguely over at her, “this.” 

“This?” That was vague, and what did her injuries have to do with Commander Cullen’s bad mood? The man was perpetually dour. It was a rare day when he was in a _good_ temperament, and, despite their recent truce, it never seemed like he was pleased to see her. Granted, whenever they spoke there was nothing pleasant to speak of, but she had thought- had hoped- after their conversation on the stairs and his smile- 

Well, clearly she was mistaken. That was all. 

“The broken bones and banged up head,” Bull supplied helpfully. “He’s been short with everyone all day, and some of the men say he was already pissy last night, after you came back.” He looked at her expectantly, waiting for some sort of explanation, which was just baffling. Battlefield injuries _happened_ , what was Commander Cullen _expecting_?! She felt that now familiar sense of irritation rise in her, bubbling and boiling like healing potion in a cauldron, and it took all of her willpower to stomp it down. No use getting angry, she reminded herself. Not practical. She had to breathe. She had to _think_! Why would Commander Cullen be angry? Why why why? She did everything she was supposed to and more. No one died, and they returned with information that would save more lives. He had no reason to be angry, and Evelyn was simply baffled. She had done everything right! There was just no pleasing the man. 

It didn’t help that everyone who came to visit her today commented on Commander Cullen’s apparently vicious temper and slyly suggested that she speak to him. If he was truly so ornery she would only make things worse. Their newfound understanding was as fragile as a new shoot of grass. One misstep and their truce would be crushed. 

“So, anyways, I thought I’d check up on you, see how you were holding up,” Bull said as he sat down on the couch across from her. “You’re looking alright, Dorian said you were, uh, pretty cavalier about the whole thing.” 

“I’m healing,” Evelyn eventually said lightly, and she didn’t comment on the fact that Bull was very clearly lying about what Dorian told him (she already had Dorian scold her once, she knew what he said!). “But I can’t imagine why Commander Cullen is so upset, we completed our objective.” 

“You can’t imagine? Really?” Bull retorted with a conspiratorial grin, as if the two of them were in on a great joke. Evelyn had no idea what the joke was, but Bull was apparently amused. 

“Absolutely not, I thought he’d be pleased with our success- two rifts closed, and we intercepted a Venatori messenger and obtained troop movements for the Red Templars-” Evelyn recited, and she would have elaborated had The Iron Bull not interrupted her. 

“Holy shit,” Bull said. “You really don’t know.” He appeared shocked, which wasn’t a common expression on his rough features. Bull was never surprised by anything. 

“Know what?” 

“You know I don’t gossip, Evelyn, but Cullen? The man worries about his soldiers. His people,” Bull looked at her gravely with his one grey eye. “He worries about _you_.” 

“Oh,” Evelyn said. For one, brief moment, her stomach felt like a flock of birds had taken flight. She felt unsteady, nearly drunk with giddy delight- he was worried? Then reality set in and those birds were struck down with the arrows of reason and practicality. Evelyn’s cheeks flushed hot with shame. Idiot! Of course the man worried about his soldiers on the field. If anyone else had thrown themselves into a demon and lived to tell the tale Commander Cullen would eviscerate them on the spot. She could almost hear his speech now- Foolish, reckless behavior, lucky to be walking, the Maker blessed you with more courage than common sense- stupid of her to not realize that. She was such an idiot. And of course she had that briefest moment of idiotic pleasure at the thought that the man was worried about her, as if he cared- 

Of course he cared. He cared in a professional sense. They were… allies. Comrades. Of course Commander Cullen cared when the Inquisitor was injured, she was an essential piece on the chessboard that was all of their lives at the moment. Of course he cared! Evelyn should have realized that sooner. And, she thought as a wave of utter embarrassment washed over her, she shouldn’t have mistaken that sense of caring as anything other than professional courtesy. 

“Evelyn?” 

“Sorry. I hadn’t realized how severely my injury would set back my next trip out to the Hinterlands. I heard of a new rift, luckily far out enough that it won’t need to be handled immediately, but still…” Evelyn sighed and struggled up to her feet. “I ought to apologize for the delay.” 

“Look, that might all be true, but-” Bull cautioned, but Evelyn was already hobbling down the stairs. 

“Thank you for coming up to tell me, I’ll handle this,” Evelyn called back. 

“Well, shit, guess Josie’s-” Bull muttered, but Evelyn didn’t hear the rest of his statement because she shut the door. Time to find Commander Cullen and (ugh) apologize. She would smooth over the rough patches and make things right, so that everything in Skyhold would go back to its usual routine and everyone would stop tip-toeing around Commander Cullen’s black temper. Now she just had to _find_ the blasted man. 

He wasn’t brooding up in his tower. He wasn’t in the War Room stabbing at the map with pins to mark enemy troop movements and tersely reading through scouting reports. He wasn’t at the training grounds drilling his soldiers to exhaustion or beating a wooden practice dummy into splinters. Maybe the stables? The tavern? Maybe he was in the War Room now and she just missed him? 

She couldn’t track the man down! It was as if he had disappeared! 

“Inquisitor, if I may…” Josephine said as Evelyn entered her office for the third time that afternoon. “If you’re looking for the Commander, I believe he sequestered himself in the chapel. On Cassandra’s orders.” 

“Cassandra?” Evelyn repeated dumbly. The chapel- she hadn’t checked the chapel, of course it would be the one place she hadn’t looked, she had gone into the wine cellar, why hadn’t she thought of the chapel? 

“She said that some prayer may do him good. Offer new perspective,” Josephine added as she dipped her pen into her ink bottle and began to write. “As he hasn’t come by this way yet I am certain he is still there-” 

“Thank you, Josephine,” Evelyn replied, and she hobbled out of the room. She didn’t see Josephine’s sly smile. She didn’t see Josephine pull a small book out of a desk drawer, open it, and scratch down a short note ( _Add a gold piece to my wager- two more weeks_ ). 

Commander Cullen was not in the chapel. The garden, however, was a different story. Evelyn heard the arguing before she saw them: Cassandra and Cullen, standing at the chapel door, arms crossed and scowls on their faces. She ducked into an alcove and (Maker forgive her for being an unrepentant snoop) listened in on the conversation. It was hardly difficult. Their raised voices echoed through the walled garden, and many a courtier deliberately turned their heads and pretended not to listen while obviously eavesdropping. 

“Cassandra, enough!” Cullen said firmly. “I am certain that if Andraste or the Maker had something to say to me they had ample opportunity to do so while I was praying,” His voice was harsh, the words clipped and short. Evelyn winced. Oh, he was angry, just barely holding his temper back, and Evelyn regretted not intervening earlier. If he had shouted at her, perhaps everyone else would have been spared his dark mood. 

“Prayer is a meditative experience, Cullen, and you have clearly not meditated,” Cassandra replied, just as unmoved as Cullen. 

“And I am not wasting more time in a fruitless effort,” Cullen retorted. “Enough prayer for the day, I have work to do.” 

“More shouting at soldiers? Working yourself to exhaustion? By Andraste, Cullen, you can’t do everything!” Cassandra exclaimed. “And you can’t snap at everyone in shouting distance-” 

“We should have known!” Cullen interrupted. “We scouted the area, we had agents in the field, we should have _known_ what was out there!” 

“I am told the rift opened quite suddenly. It wasn’t in the reports,” Cassandra explained calmly. 

“Then what good are they if-” Cullen seemed to struggle with the next few words, “if-” 

“Everyone survived. Injuries happen. You can’t wrap her in paper and linen and keep her from harm,” Cassandra said. They were silent then, and Evelyn could hardly breathe. Her heart pounded in her chest, so loud that it was nearly all she could hear. But eventually she heard Cullen mutter. 

“Should’ve been there.” 

“You can’t be everywhere,” Cassandra said, and she sounded sympathetic. “Go. Take a walk. Try praying again-” 

“I’ve done enough praying for the day, thank you,” Cullen chuckled, the sound a little rusty and uncertain. “I’ll… I’ll walk the battlements. Clear my head.” 

“See that you do,” Cassandra retorted, “and Cullen? Perhaps you should speak with her.” 

“As if that won’t end in a disaster,” Cullen said, and his voice was closer than before. Evelyn pressed herself closer to the wall and bit her lip when her ribs twinged in protest. 

Cassandra’s snort was just outside the alcove now. “Really, you could try-” 

“I know what will happen, Cassandra. I’ll see her, she’ll see me, and we’ll end up arguing with each other. I’ll say something I’ll regret, she will shut me out, and we’ll be worse off than before,” Cullen explained slowly. “And that is the last thing that I want.” 

It was the way he said that last part that made Evelyn’s heart leap into her throat. _The last thing that I want_. He sounded so tired. He sounded so _sincere_. It was a statement that sounded exactly like she felt- tired, weary of fighting, but wary as well, each of them waiting for the next incoming attack. Listening to those words was like listening to herself. Listening to those words made her… hope. 

“Very well. But you can’t avoid her forever,” Cassandra sighed. “And you can’t take out your frustrations on the troops, Commander.” 

“Of course not, Seeker,” Cullen retorted. That seemed to be the end of the conversation. Heavy footsteps walked further and further away from the alcove, until Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief. Eavesdropping on that conversation was as enlightening as it was surprising, and she felt a little raw. She stumbled out of the alcove, straight into a firm, armored body. Oh. Oh no. 

“Out and about so soon, Inquisitor Trevelyan?” Cassandra asked, and Evelyn felt the heat in her face race up to the tips of her ears. Composure. She had to try and regain some composure! 

“Yes!” Evelyn squeaked out, then coughed. “Yes. I thought a walk would be… useful.” 

"I see. And the eavesdropping?” Cassandra pushed. She looked unimpressed, if her scowl and crossed arms were anything to go by. 

“... I heard that Commander Cullen was in a terrible temper. I thought I would…” Evelyn confessed. 

“Would?” Cassandra pressed, and there was a hint of eagerness in the word that made Evelyn think of a hunting dog that caught the scent of its prey. 

“Apologize,” Evelyn muttered. “For taking unnecessary risks. But I’ll do that later today. Let him have some time alone.” And give her some time to think about what the man said. Maker help her, how would she be able to look him in the face now? 

“Ah,” Cassandra sounded like she was disappointed. Desperate for any other topic of conversation, Evelyn searched for anything to comment on. Her eyes fell upon the chessboard and the pieces- pieces that had changed since she last played. Black pawn, b6. 

“That’s a modern strategy,” Evelyn muttered as she hobbled towards the board. 

“Pardon?” Cassandra asked. 

“They’re using other pieces to control the center of the board and establish their defense,” Evelyn explained. “Traditionally you use pawns, but this player will use the more powerful pieces too.” By moving their pawn, her opponent ensured that she couldn’t move her pawns forward without putting them in danger, or opening up her defense to make any sort of move. And if she moved her queen… 

“Glaring at the board will not make the pieces move for you,” Cassandra remarked, which, while true, was also incredibly frustrating. It was far easier to play a game when your opponent was right in front of you! 

“Do you play, Cassandra?” Evelyn asked. 

“No. I do not have the patience for chess,” Cassandra replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I must strangle Varric’s smug little neck, he said-“ 

“He said?” 

“Never mind what he said,” Cassandra muttered. “Good day, Inquisitor.” Cassandra stomped off into the garden, headed towards the main hall, which left Evelyn alone at the chess board with too many thoughts and questions in her head. She glared down at the board and wondered, once again, who she was playing against. 

They were skilled, that much was obvious. Confident too. They were a strategic, bold, and aggressive player as well. Who else played chess in Skyhold? Evelyn knew a good deal of the visiting ambassadors played the game, but no one had stayed in the keep long enough to continue with the game over these past weeks. And all signs pointed to a singular player- this was a cohesive strategy formed by one mind, not many. But how to counter it? 

“Ugh, fine,” Evelyn muttered, and she moved a pawn to b3. She had underestimated this mystery opponent, hadn’t she? Now she had to play catch-up, and she still didn’t know who she was facing! Who could it be? Evelyn pondered the query as she made her way back up to her chambers. 

Solas and Bull played chess occasionally, but they weren’t the types to keep a game a secret. Dorian played and was notorious for cheating- which made games against him as fun as they were frustrating. This player kept to the rules. They knew what they were doing. 

Did Josephine play chess? Vivienne? Leliana? Giselle? Evelyn glanced over at Cassandra as she passed her in the main hall. Cassandra was conversing (more like threatening) Varric, who was smugly smiling up at her and writing away in his notebook again. No, Cassandra truly did not seem like the chess playing type. But perhaps she had seen... no. No, this was a mystery, and it was something small and fun for her to uncover. Harmless fun was hard to come by, and she couldn’t always rely on Henrietta’s letters to provide entertainment. 

“I’ll have to write back to her, somehow,” Evelyn realized as she looked down at her immobile right arm. She could either wrestle with writing with her left hand, or… Evelyn turned to the right and ascended the stairs. 

Dorian owed her a favor, considering that she saved his life. 

_-_

_My Dear Henrietta,_

_Your aunt was rather foolish, I’m afraid, and ended up in small skirmish while out in Crestwood. While everyone is well, I have broken my arm and cannot write at the moment. I have asked my friend, Dorian, to transcribe this letter for me in my stead. I am on strict rest until I fully recover, and it feels as if I can barely breathe without someone at my elbow to check in on me! Even as the Inquisitor, I can also be grounded._

_(Your Aunt was extremely foolish, Henrietta, but as she happened to save my life I am grateful for it. - Dorian Pavus)_

_Concerning your current predicament, I seem to remember that your father also took canoes and rafts out on the lake during all kinds of weather. He also sailed skiffs along the Ostwick coast when he was about your age (much to your grandfather’s displeasure). Your uncles were also known for sailing all waters and riding their horses recklessly through the woods. Even I took a canoe out when I was a child, though the weather was sunny and I did not go far from shore. So, you see, you are not the only risk-taker in the Trevelyan family! But please do take care in your adventures, Henrietta. The lake can be dangerous, even deadly, for an expert sailor. You are being careful, aren’t you? Remember to look before you leap!_

_(Perhaps what your aunt means to say is “Wait before rushing in,” a lesson she has recently learned. - Dorian Pavus)_

_Thank you for labeling all those silk scraps for me, Henrietta. While I wait for my bones to mend (magic can only do so much, Henrietta, remember that), Ambassador Montilyet has kept me occupied with planning my wardrobe. While I do not think I will ever enjoy keeping up with the latest fashions, I will admit that putting together outfits that I will enjoy is somewhat therapeutic. I am growing restless while I heal. Patience has never been one of my virtues, unfortunately, and while I cannot climb any trees in my condition I have taken to camping out near the chess board to spy on my opponent. I have made no progress in solving this mystery, but one can always hope!_

_(This mystery is driving your aunt mad, Henrietta. She has accused me of being her mystery chess opponent three times this past week alone! I am almost flattered. - Dorian Pavus)_

_I am afraid that I must leave this letter here, as I must attend another meeting with my advisors concerning an upcoming trip to Val Royeux. It is strange that I often wished to visit Val Royeux when I was young, but now I find the prospect to be head-ache inducing. The towering buildings and crowds of people can be overwhelming at times, but it is a good deal of fun to explore the shops and cafes in the city. Sera is determined to have me try a few cakes from one particular bakery- if I have the chance it would be lovely to try a “passionfruit spongey thingy,” whatever that means. Is there a dessert that you like best, Henrietta?_

_I send you my love, as always._

_Your Equally Grounded Aunt,_

_Evelyn_

_(Post Script- I hear that your grandmother believes me to be the Black Divine! I wish I had his money, at least I could afford a good bottle of wine. - Dorian Pavus)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter took longer than I anticipated! Thank you all for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

_Dear Aunt Evelyn,_

_Are you well? As much fun as it was to read your letter and your friend’s comments, I am worried for you. How is your arm? What happened in Crestwood? Are your trips always so dangerous? And you tell me to be careful! I should be the one saying that. The squall on the lake was a mild one, and I’ve been in worse storms. Speaking of which, I accidentally told father that I knew that he went sailing around the lake when he was my age. Now he’s convinced Uncle Corwin or Uncle Benedict let something slip. He was quite cross for the day, but I’ve been allowed back in the stables so I can take care of Sunset. It’s the first time I’ve been free for a week, and I’ve taken every opportunity to spend every afternoon out of doors!_

_However, it is very hard to stay clean and tidy when you’re mucking out stables, and though I was extremely careful and washed thoroughly, I went to dinner this past week with straw in my hair. Grandmother was apoplectic. That’s a fun word, isn’t it? Dreadfully hard to spell, but it sounds so dramatic when you say it. Apoplectic! But I received another speech that consisted of “Henrietta you are a _young lady_ of _high standing_ and this is unacceptable behavior!” Great-Grandmother didn’t seem so horrified, but she clicked her tongue and shook her head before we continued the meal. Really, Aunt Evelyn, it was only a very small piece of hay, and I was allowed to have dessert despite looking like a “barbarian,” so it really couldn’t have been so bad. We had pavlova, with raspberry sauce. The meringue’s my favorite part of pavlova. I love the way it crunches between your teeth when you bite it!_

_Please be careful in Ferelden and Orlais. I’ve only been to Val Royeaux once, and we had an escort everywhere we went. It is a beautiful city, but great grandmother says even the prettiest places can be dangerous. Mother says it is a nest of vipers on the best of days. I know that you have your friends to watch you, but please be careful, Aunt Evelyn. If you have a chance to have fun in the city, there’s a really lovely cafe next to a book shop along the “golden road.” I think you might like it!_

_Please Be Careful!_

_Your Worried Niece,_

_Henrietta_

_Postscript- Grandmother is still absolutely convinced that your friend Messere Dorian Pavus is the Black Divine. She ranted about him throughout dinner. Does he have red eyes and a skull-like face? Does he only do his evil deeds on the dark of the moon? And does he drink blood?_

_(I’m only joking, he sounds very nice, especially since he agreed to write for you while you get better.)_

-

Evelyn chuckled as she tucked Henrietta’s letter into the inner pocket of her cloak. She liked carrying the letters around and re-reading them, even though she wrote her reply this morning and planned to send it off to Ostwick tomorrow. There was something comforting about having a letter from Henrietta on hand- it was a little like she was carrying her niece- or a part of her niece- with her as she went about her day. Henrietta would probably enjoy walking about Skyhold- things to do, people to see, and, of course, a fine stableyard with exciting mounts of all kinds. There was a Dalish delegation that came by nearly a month before, and Evelyn knew Henrietta would have loved to watch the halla. The Dalish were easier to talk to than the Orlesians she spoke to this afternoon, Evelyn thought, but the new clothing gave her confidence and lended a sort of dignified bearing that she hadn’t had before she stuffed herself in the carefully constructed dress she now wore.

The wardrobe Josephine ordered just came in during the past week, and Evelyn was growing used to the variety of dresses, tunics, shirts, and leggings that were now hers. It was strange to open a wardrobe and have to think about what to wear- she had to consider her plans for the day, who she might encounter while she was walking, and what she required of her clothing. Most days she wore a shirt, a tunic, and leggings, but today- Evelyn nervously brushed out the non-existent wrinkles in her grey-green wool dress- her outfit required a little more formality today. The Orlesian nobles she met with discussed reinforcing their towns and repelling demon attacks. It was exhausting, and after everyone left (some happier than others), all Evelyn wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. But she had promised Sera that she would head to Herald’s Rest for a drink and conversation (“You’re all work, work, work, it’ll do you good to get out and talk to _people_. People people, not those toffs.”).

“It wasn’t so bad,” Evelyn told herself as she crossed the courtyard and headed towards the Herald’s Rest. Once she broke through the layers and layers of careful language and ceremony, it was a relatively simple thing to negotiate reinforcements and organize patrols. It was a successful meeting, and with the new clothing and gloves covering her hands and her white knuckled grip on the arms of her chair, Evelyn was certain she made a good impression. Josephine and Leliana didn’t correct her, and Cassandra gave her a reluctant congratulations. Cullen- well, Cullen smiled and warmly said “Good work defanging those vipers,” and Evelyn still blushed at the thought of that smile, the way his brown eyes lit up, the dimples in his cheeks- no she was not going to think about that!

“Stupid girl, he’s your friend, he cares because he’s your friend and you are working towards the same goal, that’s all,” Evelyn muttered as she hopped over a mud puddle. It was hard to remember that Cullen was only a friend and colleague, especially when she thought about the conversation between Cullen and Cassandra she overheard in the courtyard all those weeks ago- but as nothing else came from it. Cullen spoke to her later that day. He gruffly told her to “have a care” in the field, and that he hoped she was recovering. Have a care! 

All that romantic hope and wonder was quickly dashed on the rocks with those words. He sounded more like a concerned grandmother than anything else. This was just another case of an overactive imagination, overfed on scraps of kind words and a good deal of romantic day dreaming. Nothing had changed, and she was just imagining feelings where there were none. Idiot. She should know better.

“Oh, Henrietta, your aunt is a great fool,” Evelyn thought as she opened the heavy wooden door of the tavern and slipped inside. Hopefully an evening among friends would pull her away from her silly dreams. She didn’t need an impossible romance, she already had companionship! In a few months she would be quite cured of romantic thoughts. Evelyn smiled politely at the barkeep, greeted some of the soldiers she knew by name, waved to Bull’s Chargers, and looked past the crowds of patrons to try and locate Sera.

“If you’re looking for the Boss and Sera, you’ll find them upstairs with the others,” Krem yelled across the full room.

“Thank you!” Evelyn shouted back, and she was grateful that no one else seemed to mind (or take notice) as she ran up the stairs. It was a nice thing, to sink into the crowd and not be noticed. From her trip to Val Royeaux to all her activities today, it felt as if she was on display for the past two weeks! A little anonymity was welcome.

It seemed like everyone was gathered around the table. Everyone, Evelyn realized with mild alarm, save for Commander Cullen, whom she had passed inside the keep heading up to his tower to fill out another report. Even Cole was present, his long legs dangling off the table edge. Everyone present was gathered around Varric and Josephine, who were looking over two little leather bound books while they all argued about… something. Evelyn was about to interrupt and ask what the matter was when Josephine’s voice cut through the chaotic din.

“No, no, I had it written quite clearly, Dorian placed two silver on Evelyn before the end of the month,” Josephine said firmly, and she tapped the page in front of her with her quill.

“Right, at the beginning of the month,” Varric agreed. “No disputing that. The Seeker’s got one gold on Curly.” He made some sort of checkmark on his page with his pen before returning to running through whatever was written in his book.

“Much good it does me,” Cassandra snorted. “He is clueless. They are both clueless!”

“How many near misses have there been?” Solas asked politely as he sipped on something from his tin mug. Odd. He hated tea, never really seemed to drink, and held himself apart from the others most of the time. But even Solas had come down to the Herald’s Rest to place bets on Cullen and… and her. Evelyn’s flush deepened. Oh no, oh no no no! She had a terrible feeling about this.

“I’ve seen three from my balcony,” Vivienne remarked. “Really, Cassandra, a whole gold piece on Cullen?”

“I had thought he would be more… decisive,” Cassandra grumbled.

“Cole, you bet… flowers in the garden and a songbird,” Josephine said slowly.

“They are valuable, sunshine and song and green growing things,” Cole replied. “And Evelyn likes flowers. Cullen likes waking up to bird song. I thought they would like it.”

“They sure would, kid,” Varric said easily. “Sera, you’ve got ten coppers and three silvers on Cullen, but you also say that he’s going to ‘fumble it.’”

“Yeah, he can’t manage a proper conversation. But what if,” Sera piped up, and the wide smile on her face sent shivers of utter fear down Evelyn’s spine, “what if we, and I ain’t naming any names but I think we’ll need some muscle and a good lock, we picked ‘em up, locked them in a closet, and refused to let ‘em out until they’ve kissed and worked things out?”

Oh, oh Maker no! What sort of childish Circle prank was that?! Not that that would have _ever_ happened in the Circle. Evelyn was certain no one at Ostwick would have dreamed of locking her (or anyone) in a closet with a Templar, no matter how handsome and charming they seemed! But it was different in Skyhold, different with the Inquisition. Circles were in chaos, Templars were disbanded, and nothing was the way it was before. When the world as they all knew it was made anew, well, getting locked in close quarters with a handsome man you cared for and felt some attraction towards wasn’t objectionable. Evelyn flushed when she thought of Cullen’s smile. No, not objectionable at all. But still. Mages. Templars. Tense relations between both parties. Bad idea.

“At this point I’m all for it,” Dorian stated (the traitor!). “Can’t make things worse.”

“It could go either way, truth be told,” Solas added smoothly. “They could cooperate and make our lives… difficult.”

“Are you trying to extend the timeline, Chuckles? Cause I have you written down here for… one whole month, three silvers on the Inquisitor- well well, that’s specific,” Varric let out a low whistle. “Mind if I share this with the gathering?”

“I’m surprised that you haven’t already,” Solas replied, and though his back was turned towards her Evelyn knew the man was smiling. Varric cleared his throat, adjusted his gold rimmed spectacles, and read aloud to his audience.

“Two silvers on Evelyn, placed on the fifth of Drakonis. Evelyn will confess her feelings during Bloomingtide, after Commander Cullen is injured in a military campaign,” Varric recited.

“Dramatic,” Leliana commented. “It… sounds like them.”

“Sounds more like prophecy than a bet,” Iron Bull grumbled. “You planning on making that reality?” He shifted in his seat and glared impressively at Solas. The frown on his face made him look like he was glowering, but the little sparkle in his eye indicated that he was joking. His eye passed over the shadows behind the wooden beam and crates Evelyn was hiding behind, and Evelyn held her breath. Had he noticed her? Was he going to say something? But then the moment passed and Bull returned to glaring at Solas, and Evelyn let out a quiet sigh. Good! He hadn’t noticed.

“Of course not,” Solas replied. “But I firmly believe that they are entirely too dense to recognize their feelings until a tragedy occurs.”

“No, it’s not that. They’re being deliberately obtuse. Easier to lie and say that there’s nothing there than speak it and make their feelings known,” Blackwall argued. Evelyn felt both vindicated and insulted- of course she knew what she felt! Attraction wasn’t _hard_ to understand, it was simply… complicated. Extremely complicated.

Idiot. She was such an idiot!

“It can’t be real, it’s obviously a misunderstanding, nothing but dreams and dreams and longing for what can’t be,” Cole mumbled, which felt even worse than Blackwall’s statement. 

“I can’t believe that I am even participating in this nonsense, but…” VIvienne mused quietly, though her voice carried across the room.

“Everything before the but is bullshit, Madame,” Varric said cheerfully.

“Yes yes, but I don’t see how we’ll have any peace if we let them pine uselessly for the foreseeable future,” Vivienne continued. “I am loathe to agree with Sera-”

“Hey!”

“But her idea has merit,” Vivenne concluded. “Dorian has the right of it, it can’t possibly be worse than it is now.”

“And the court loves a love story,” Leliana added. “Mage and Templar? It’s star-crossed. We can use it to our advantage, gain noble support, endear us to the common people, ease the tempers of those who oppose us by discussing how they balance each other...”

“We can even have a dramatic stabbing,” Cassandra grumbled. “Solas, I’ll help you win. I’ll stab Cullen myself if it means that he, or Evelyn, will actually _do something_!”

Now it was going too far. While the subject of her non-existent love life being part of a betting pool was embarrassing, Evelyn was willing to play the part. It was all a bit of harmless, good fun. After all, it wasn’t as if anything would come of it- but now her advisors and companions and-and friends!- were going to try and force something to grow where nothing existed. She and Cullen were barely friends, and even though a few weeks ago she thought it was different-

Well, she was wrong. They were just starting to be friends. Romance should be the last thing on her mind and she was an idiot for thinking that just because a man was _nice_ to her that he was romantically interested in her. And as Cullen wasn’t here to stop their plotting, it fell to her to put these schemes to rest.

“Fuck it, I’ve already lost my coin,” Bull added. “I volunteer to shove the boss in a closet. Cullen’s liable to take out my other eye, Evelyn’s a lot more forgiving.”

“So, Ruffles, do we throw them in a closet and let the Maker sort them out, or do we let Cassandra use the pointy end of her sword to speed things along?” Varric asked cheerfully as he shut his notebook with a definite snap. It was now or never, wasn’t it?

“I think we should close the betting pool and not speculate on a theoretical relationship,” Evelyn piped up as she stepped fully into the room. No one seemed surprised to see her. Even Solas, who had his back to her the whole time, appeared unruffled as she made her way fully into the room.

“Hey, Boss,” Bull said easily. “Was wondering when you’d join in on the conversation.”

Blast, he had seen her! “I didn’t realize I was invited,” Evelyn retorted. “Is this an intervention, or are you bringing me into the fold?”

“It’s hardly ethical to place a bet on yourself if you’re the subject of the bet,” Josephine pointed out primly as Evelyn removed her cloak and sat down.

“May I see the betting pool?” When Varric and Josephine clutched their notebooks closer to them Evelyn rolled her eyes. Really, as if she would toss their betting books into the rain outside, or light them on fire! It was a tempting thought, but it was all a bit of harmless fun. That’s what she had to tell herself. It was all just a bit of fun, and it didn’t really mean anything. They all saw her useless pining and were having a bit of a joke. That was all!

It stung a little, but she’d get over that in time.

“I won’t set them on fire, I’m simply curious. Was everyone as detailed as Solas, or was he the exception?” Evelyn joked, and the shifty, shuttered expressions everyone wore spoke volumes. Had everyone placed bets? What if there were more betting pools, more rumors- oh Maker, how was she supposed to look at Cullen in the face knowing that everyone in Skyhold thought- thought-

“Besides,” Evelyn added lightly as she removed her gloves. “You’re all operating under the assumption that Commander Cullen is even remotely attracted to me. Which he’s not.”

The collective groan around the table was nearly deafening.

“You’re serious,” Blackwall said. “Andraste’s Tits, the woman’s serious.”

“Maybe I’ll stab you and Cullen can do the confessing,” Cassandra growled out.

“But it’s true!” Evelyn protested. She was right, damn it to the Fade and back! Cullen wasn’t interested in her- and why would he be? Simple, mousy Evelyn Trevelyan, a Mage from Ostwick Circle, wasn’t someone who caught anyone’s attention. The powerful, poised Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan was just an illusion everyone, herself included, crafted. No amount of carefully rehearsed speeches, wardrobe changes, or lessons on politics, battle strategy, and noble houses would make Evelyn Trevelyan, Ostwick Mage, appealing, especially to a Templar. Former Templar. Regardless, her point stood. Who would be romantically interested in _her_ >?

“He isn’t interested. He’s had ample opportunity to say something, which he hasn’t, so that’s that,” Evelyn concluded. “Now really, you can tell me your bets, it does sound interesting as a mental exercise.”

“You’re worse than him,” Cassandra announced as she slammed her hands on the table, rattling mugs and ink bottles. “I did not think it possible but you are worse than Cullen!”

“I still say she’ll tell him before the month is out,” Dorian muttered. “She’s got six days. Seven if you hop to it.” When he looked over at Evelyn his expression was a mixture of pity, exasperation, and a little bit of fondness just to soften the edge. But then he smiled, that little frustrating smile that he always did when he was about to say something cutting, suggest something a little bit rude and risque, and she was not going to tolerate that right now.

“Dorian,” Evelyn warned before he could say anything, but it was Vivienne (Vivienne, who always advocated for strict designations of class and rank to be preserved) who spoke up.

“He and Cassandra have a point, my dear,” she said lightly. “While the two of you are utterly blind, you can be reasoned with. Commander Cullen is immovable, though Maker knows I have prodded at him.”

“You? You had a talk with the uptight little-” Sera’s exasperated voice rose in pitch and volume until she let out a little shriek of rage.

“As did I. And Cassandra. And I seem to remember that you said something, Josie,” Leliana said.

“And I may have had a few words as well,” Varric added. “Strictly as an author, of course. Can’t write a romance without some inspiration, you see.”

“Funny. I had a few words myself, out in the practice yards,” Blackwall said, and as if that weren’t enough Iron Bull and Solas chimed in as well.

“Yeah, I told Cullen to be decisive, think he just about cleaved the practice dummy in half,” Bull remarked.

“How do you take a step when you don’t know the ground that lies before you, how do you walk into the dark without a light to guide your way- nothing is certain in this, I can’t, I can’t-” Cole stopped. “He said he was upset that I stepped on his reports, but that was just an excuse.”

“I may have suggested that speaking to you would give him better results than begging his Maker for peace of mind,” Solas added. “He did not approve.”

“And I said he should hang round his stupid chess game and say hello when you walked by!” Sera exclaimed. “You’d think, good ol’ Ferelden boy like hm, he’d be the practical sort, but nooooo! Got to be all ‘can’t bother the Inquisitor she’s busy’ and ‘I have work to do, Sera.’ Balls!”

“Wait. Just- I-” Evelyn shook her head and held up hand. “Please, give me a moment.”

Evelyn felt like her head was about to burst open with all this new information. Everyone present knew she was pining romantically over Cullen. Fine. She obviously wasn’t as subtle as she thought she was. She could accept that. Everyone thought that Cullen was uselessly pining over her- which, while absurd, Evelyn would accept because every person in the room was convinced it was true, and she doubted that they would all coordinate together to craft a joke that could go horribly wrong just for a laugh. They weren’t _cruel_ , after all. So, with all that added up, the only conclusion she could come to was that her feelings for Cullen were, to some degree, reciprocated.

Then there was the chess board. Which was Cullen’s, and apparently everyone in Skyhold knew it except for her. Of course he liked chess. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Most Templars had some sort of game they enjoyed, be it cards or dicing, but Cullen did not seem the type to gamble. Chess, however, that was the sort of game right up his alley. And his style of play- traditional at first, and then a bit modern. Swift. Decisive. He aggressively countered her every move. He challenged her. Of course Cullen was her mystery opponent! Maker, she was an idiot.

“I really don’t understand why you would all place bets on Cullen and I, and any possible romantic liaison between us. It’s hardly professional. And he doesn’t like me, we hardly go a day without disagreeing about something,” Evelyn finally mumbled, because what else was she supposed to say? She could hear Cassandra roll her eyes, and Varric (she was certain it was Varric) clicked his tongue.

“You could _talk_ to him. Use your words,” Dorian remarked dryly. “You both have an abundance of them when you shout at each other in the War Room.”

“We don’t shout,” Evelyn retorted. She did not raise her voice, she did not _shout_. She never shouted!

“DIsagree passionately and glower,” Bull said. “You might not raise your voice, Boss, but the Vint’s got a point. ”

“And while you both argue and disagree, that is a good thing- can you imagine Cullen, getting his way all the time? It would be insufferable,” Josephine added. “And the two of you make each other think- sharpen each other’s arguments, make each other better- it is a good partnership, really.”

“And if you two actually speak to each other you will stop sighing while looking out of windows and Cullen will stop beating practice dummies to a pulp,” Cassandra finished. “Go. Talk to him.”

“But he’s-”

“Which move, which move, bishop or knight, it is easy, so easy to make a mistake in these openings, I always misstep when I can’t see where I’m going-” Cole muttered, then he lifted his head up and pinned Evelyn to her seat with his pale blue eyes.

“He’s in the garden,” he said firmly.

Evelyn stood up and tugged her cloak back over her shoulders. She had things to do and a certain Commander to talk to.

“If you’ll excuse me, everyone,” Evelyn said politely. “I think I need to speak with Cullen. Alone.” She pushed her chair back in and rushed down the steps, and before the din of the crowds below drowned out the conversation above, she heard Blackwall say:

“Good work, Cole. Clever, with the chess bit.”

“I only told the truth,” Cole replied innocently.

Whatever else was said was lost in a burst of music and laughter as Evelyn crossed the tavern floor and burst outside into the cool twilight.

Cullen was in the garden, sitting by the chessboard, but he wasn’t playing. No, he was reading something on a sheet of paper, and the smile on his face made Evelyn stop short. Perhaps she should let him be- Cullen so rarely smiled, and his grin and good humor might vanish if she interrupted him. Especially if she rushed in and demanded that he talk about his feelings. For her. Oh Maker she really should go. But her legs wouldn’t obey her mind, and she continued to walk forward, closer to the chessboard, closer to Cullen, and closer to a conversation that was long overdue.

“May I join you?” Evelyn asked softly, and Cullen nearly jumped out of his chair. He hastily folded up the paper- a letter- and slipped it into a pocket in his surcoat. His curly hair was slowly escaping the confines of the pomade he used, probably due to the dampness in the air. His cheeks were slightly flushed, as were his ears. He smiled, and Evelyn nearly forgot what she was doing. Maker, he had a nice smile.

“Inquisitor. Please, feel free,” he replied. Evelyn took a seat and took stock of the board. He’d moved his bishop to b4. Ugh, on the attack already, wasn’t he? He was still smiling, obviously pleased with himself because he’d put her in check so easily! She’d have to counter that. Aware that his eyes were on her, Evelyn picked up her own bishop and moved it to d2. What else was she supposed to do, let him take her king?

“You favor a modern approach, Commander,” Evelyn stated. “I haven’t played in years. I’m afraid I’m woefully out of practice.”

Cullen’s sharp burst of laughter made her jump. “Out of practice? Maker, if that’s you out of practice-” He coughed and looked down at the board again. Bashfulness? Or was he simply being modest?.He was _good_ , or she was awful, or it was a mix of both.

“That is to say, you hold your own, though you are a traditional player,” Cullen said, and was he blushing? Yes, yes that was certainly a blush! Evelyn smiled and let herself relax in her seat. He _was_ nervous, just like her!

“My brother Lawrence taught me to play,” Evelyn explained. “He’s always been one for tradition. I’m out of practice, never really played in the Circle.” Evelyn wondered if Lawrence still played, or if he no longer had time for it.

“My sister taught me. And my siblings. She’s the chess master. Still beats me on the regular,” Cullen replied. “Always has.”

“Do you see her often?” Stupid question, that, but Cullen didn’t seem to take offense. He gazed at the board, his brown eyes darting from piece to piece, obviously pleased with whatever he saw. He moved his bishop and took hers out. Check again, and he claimed the first piece on the board.

“No. But we write. I have a board back in my tower, we play through our letters. Games can go on for months,” Cullen said, and he was smiling again. “Not unlike this one.”

“We could finish our game, if you'd like,” Evelyn cautiously offered. “Though you were engrossed in your letter, earlier. If I’m interrupting your privacy, please-”

“No, let us play,” Cullen interrupted. “It’s from my sister, nothing serious or devastating. It’s good to hear from family.”

“Yes,” Evelyn agreed, thinking of Henrietta’s letter in her cloak as she picked up her queen piece and rid herself of Cullen’s meddlesome bishop. “Yes, it is.”

There was so much to talk about, so much for her to observe, so much to think over, but somehow? Somehow, Evelyn just let it all fade away, and she let herself enjoy the game and the company. Tomorrow, she would think about what everyone else said about her and Cullen. Today, right now, she would just play a game of chess.

-

_Dearest Henrietta,_

_My trip to Val Royeaux was mercifully short and uneventful, and while I did not linger in the city for long I spent a wonderful afternoon along the Golden Road and perused both the cafe and the bookshop you suggested! They were lovely places, Henrietta. Thank you for your recommendation. I drank tea, bought a collection of illustrations of Ferelden wildflowers, and had a wonderful afternoon. Such days are rare in the Inquisition, but they are a treasure when they do occur._

_There are few formal dinners in Skyhold, and I often take my meals in my chambers or the warm room. I try to eat with others at the tavern when I can spare the time. No one takes notice of dress when they wish to relax and enjoy a meal among friends. But I remember the formal dinners with your grandmother and grandfather when I was a child. There was one eventful evening when the sleeve of my gown dropped into the fish dish. I trailed tomato ginger sauce across all the white linen tablecloth. And as I grew up in the Circle, I was often scolded for coming to meals covered in dirt from my work in the herb gardens. All that said, it is easier to keep clean and tidy with a mirror, washbasin, and a friend who will let you know if there’s a smudge of dirt on your cheek (or straw in your hair)!_

_On the subject of friends- no, Dorian Pavus does not have red eyes or perform blood magic under a full moon. He detests blood magic on principle and claims that it is a shortcut for less-skilled Mages. It is Solas (another advisor, companion, and friend of mine) who has a more generous interpretation of blood magic- a tool like any other, he calls it. I think Dorian would be impressed by the wild stories your grandmother is telling. He has a fondness for drama, but he’s kind, and has a soft heart under all the bluster. I think that many people I find in my company are soft under their armor and hardened countenance._

_I must conclude my letter now, as an Orlesian delegation has followed me from Val Royeaux. I hope that we will come to negotiations with open minds and a willingness to cooperate with each other. While Orlais has been friendlier of late, I do agree with your Mother’s assessment of their Great Game. I’ll be sure to take care._

_All My Love,_

_Aunt Evelyn_

_Postscript- Please ignore the slight tear at the top of this letter, I had it sealed and ready to send but something happened that I think you would love to hear about, Henrietta. I discovered the identity of my chess opponent! It was Commander Cullen all along. He was apparently as surprised at finding that I was his opponent, but we sat down and finished our game (he won, much to my disappointment, but I will practice more and challenge him again). The strangest thing was that, while we played, there was an ease and friendliness between us that did not exist before. We spoke of our families, growing up, life in Ferelden versus life in Ostwick- it was strange to find a kindred spirit in him, of all people. We seem so different! But though he decimated me in our game (it was quite embarrassing, really), I am glad we played and spoke with each other. I believe I have made a friend of him._


	6. Chapter 6

__

Dear Aunt Evelyn, 

__

Has my father always been so overbearing, or has he grown more controlling over the years? He found out that I wrote to you. I tried to keep it secret, I really did, but he either found one of your letters, or read a rough-draft of a letter I had tossed into the trash, or maybe he intercepted one of our letters? I don’t know how he did it, but he did and now he’s scolding me fiercely for bothering you. He said, and I quote, “you cannot bother an important woman with frivolous gossip when she is trying to prevent multiple wars from breaking out in several countries!” He and Mother got into a terrible row, because Mother said that a young lady may correspond with her aunt (“her beloved aunt”) if she so wishes, and that it’s perfectly proper. She also said that if Father had some common sense in his head instead of a box full of rocks, he would realize the advantages of extending an olive branch and healing the rift in our family.

__

They’re still fighting. Father’s quiet when he’s angry. His voice goes low and rumbles like thunder, and it feels like the temperature in the room drops when he’s angry. Mother shouts and stomps back and forth. She says pacing and making noise helps her think, which is why she usually lingers in the music room and plays the pianoforte until she feels calmer. So it’s all rumbling and stomping in Father’s study, and I’m hidden away in my school room writing this letter to you. I think that Father might watch the mail, so the address has changed, you see. I asked one of the kitchen maids, Tilly, to send this letter with hers. She’s writing to her brother, who is serving as a blacksmith’s apprentice in Skyhold right now. His name is Charles. He’s seventeen and very serious (he used to work at Grandfather’s estate as a stable boy before he was apprenticed). Hopefully you will receive my letter in a timely manner. My correspondence will be spotty until Father stops being ~~controlling~~ ~~rude~~ ~~ruining my life~~ being ridiculous.

__

However, I planned to send you a letter for a completely different purpose, Aunt Evelyn, and it’s very important. I know that it is improper to listen to gossip, and that I shouldn’t put stock into what I don’t have proof of, but I have to know: Is it true that you’ve… well… oh this is so difficult to say like a proper young lady, Aunt Evelyn, so I’ll just tell you what I’ve heard because I know you won’t be too cross with me! Aunt Evelyn, I heard that you and the Commander of the Inquisition’s military forces are together. Romantically, I mean. 

__

The rumors are flying around from many sources, but I’m certain my information is accurate. Tilly says that Charles saw you and Commander Cullen walking together, and far closer than any high born lady and knight should walk. Tilly doesn’t tell tales, Aunt Evelyn, and neither does Charles, and you yourself said you played chess with him (did you hide in a bush or a tree, Aunt Evelyn? How did you catch him, you never said!).

__

But if none of that convinces you that the rumors are true, Uncle Benedict also mentioned your relationship with Commander Cullen the last time he visited Father. Uncle Benedict doesn’t approve at all- he says that a Templar should know better than to grow infatuated with a Mage. He said that Commander Cullen’s reputation was always above reproach when he was part of the Order, and that he is disappointed that he would forget his vows so quickly. Father says that you should know better than to moon over a man of such low social status. I tried to speak with Mother and Great-Grandmother when she was available, but they both said that I am too young to have such conversations. Too young! I’m old enough to know about romance, I think.

__

From Your (Frustrated) Niece,

__

Henrietta

__

Postscript- I also want you to know that I don’t care what Father or Uncle Benedict or anyone else thinks. If Commander Cullen makes you happy, and if you love him, Aunt Evelyn, then I’m certain I’ll love him too. Should I write him a letter, or is it too soon for that?

__

Henrietta

__

-

Evelyn folded up Henrietta’s latest letter and slipped it into her cloak pocket. Really, had everyone seen what she couldn’t see? Rumors were flying around even in Ostwick? Oh, Maker. That certainly explained the strange commentary and half-hidden smiles from visitors whenever they spotted her speaking with Cullen.

Speaking of Cullen… Evelyn sighed and clutched her cloak tighter to her body as she exited the main hall and hurried down the steps into the dungeons. Maker, he was going to kill her if he knew what she was doing. Granted, any one of her advisors might kill her, and a few of her companions (she overheard some of courtiers dub them “The Inner Circle”) might kill her if they knew what she was up to. Well, Dorian would let her live. He would just scold her until her ears were permanently stained red with shame. But Evelyn slipped into the dungeon regardless, nodded to Frederick, who nodded back as he let her pass.

“He’s doing fine today. Eating. Has a pile of books he wants to return,” he remarked as Evelyn passed him.

“Of course. I’ll take them up,” she said. “Thank you, Frederick.”

“Of course, Inquisitor. I will be here, observing. Protocol, you understand,” Frederick explained, as he always did, and he always managed to sound both apologetic and stern while he said it. Evelyn was well aware of the visiting policy by now- she had made this trip many times before, and she knew she would make it many times more. So she took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and crossed the cavernous hall of the dungeon to speak with Magister Gereon Alexius.

“Ah, Inquisitor. Here to deliver more bad news, or to ask a question? Perhaps a game of cards?” Alexius asked as she approached. He had been writing at his desk, Evelyn noted. His parchment was covered in some sort of elaborate diagram. He looked better than he had when he was first locked into this cell, a little less tired and sorrowful. That was good. She hoped that Felix heeded her advice and tracked down Stroud before- well. A life as a Warden was still a life, and whatever secret ritual they underwent apparently cured Blight sickness, or so said Varric. Blackwall, due to oaths or his own reluctance to speak of his past, did not elaborate beyond a gruff “there’s a chance, it can’t make him _worse_.” All in all, what Evelyn heard was that joining the Wardens, wherever they were, was better than nothing. After she told Alexius that his son might have a chance at life after all, he was a good deal cheerier. He could almost be said to be kind. His sense of humor, however, was biting and sarcastic, always meant to provoke. Perhaps that was a form of banter in the Tevinter upper classes, because Dorian could also goad and snark when he felt like it.

“Hello, Magister Alexius,” Evelyn replied politely. “I came down to ask if you would like more books. I will take the ones you finished back to the library.” Frederick had warned her of the pile of books on the desk. It was massive! Magister Alexius was a far faster reader than she.

“Not sending a servant down to do it for you? An honor,” Alexius said, his tone just shy of mocking. Evelyn ignored that. He was just a man, a man driven by desperation and still worried about his son. He was a man who was wondering if he had made a good choice in letting his son go. She could manage a few barbed insults. After all, hadn't she deserved it at this point? If not for her, perhaps things would- Evelyn bit her tongue. No, blaming herself for Felix’s fate would mean blaming herself for a dozen or more things that happened outside of her control. She couldn’t travel this road again, not now.

“I view it as my responsibility, Magister Alexius,” Evelyn said. “I… understand how a mind can feel suffocated when left to sit and spin its wheels, as it were.” Alexius’s bitter chuckle echoed through the dungeon.

“Stagnation? Your library upstairs is woefully incomplete, I am surprised my mind has not already gone,” he complained, and Evelyn couldn’t help the smile that crossed her features. How much was Dorian influenced by Magister Alexius, and vice versa? She always marveled at the sharp insults and complaints when she spoke with him, so similar to the ones she always heard from Dorian. It was strange to see whose influence helped shape her friend- strange to compare Dorian’s father to Dorian’s mentor. Who were the people who shaped her friend? Who were the people who shaped her? It was a strange thought to tangle with.

“Dorian says much the same, and I have to agree,” Evelyn confessed. “It is inadequate, unless you, ah, wish to know if Divine Galatea took a shit on Sunday.”

That remark made Alexius bark with laughter. “Dorian said that, eh? Pavus was always irreverent. Brilliant, mind you, but there was never a rule Dorian read that he didn’t disobey. Now, if you want to talk about a mind that could have gone stagnant… ah, but you came down here for a reason, didn’t you?” Alexius looked at her expectantly, and Evelyn sighed.

“I… did have a question, but I do not expect or demand an answer,” she explained. “Something Dorian is working on, I thought I could… help.”

“Does the boy need someone to check his work for a mathematics or translation error?” Alexius asked. “Kaffas, he is a brilliant mind but he has probably taken to brooding. Or drinking. Always does when his research hits a wall.”

“It’s this, Magister Alexius,” Evelyn pulled out another sheet of parchment from her cloak. “Book list. I tracked down these copies, and I bought this one recently, but these three…”

“Genealogies of Tevinter magisterial families, all of them,” Alexius said with a derisive snort. “Could recite those ten generations back at least. Dorian has an even sharper memory for the stuff.”

“Dorian insists that he needs a cross-reference. Possibly more. I agree with him,” Evelyn said carefully. “He believes the key to defeating Corypheus lies in the past. Perhaps his ancestry. If we can uncover his identity-“

“Ahh, Dorian wants to politic,” Alexius interrupted. “Brush off the patina, prove that Corypheus was an upstart with no lineage. The idea has merit, I’ll grant you that much. It would certainly cut off his support in Tevinter.”

“In that case, where should I look for these?” Evelyn asked. Alexius hadn’t said it, but he sounded interested. It was a good sign, and she was going to take advantage of it.

“That one,” Alexius jabbed his index finger at a book halfway down the list, “I own. Have it in my things that I brought to Redcliffe. Dorian will know what to look for. This? The third on the list? Look in Rivain, College of Philosophy. As for this tenth one… hmm. Interesting.” Alexius wore a sly smile on his face as he read over the book list.

“Yes?” Evelyn asked.

“Your family might have that one, Inquisitor Trevelyan. Fascinating, how deep magic can run in the bloodline. Disappear for generations, ages even, and then it pops up stronger than ever,” Alexius mused. “I hear that you specialize as a Knight Enchanter now.”

“It seemed prudent,” Evelyn confessed. If she was going to be out in the middle of a battle, she felt better having a weapon in hand. It seemed like everything she did outside of Skyhold ended in some sort of skirmish- even if it wasn’t planned. Cullen confessed that it was growing harder to send her out on missions knowing that, no matter how well scouted the area and how carefully he planned, she would undoubtedly be thrust into battle. He spent all of yesterday afternoon leading her through training exercises- sword and buckler, knife work, basic hand to hand. And while Cullen was nothing but professional throughout the process, she could barely keep her head whenever he nudged her legs and tugged at her arms, adjusting her stances and correcting her posture so much that it felt like he was always touching her. It was distracting, but Cullen said she did well. The praise made her heart and stomach flutter, and she knew she grinned like an idiot when he smiled at her. But the sun was shining in his hair like the sun through ripe wheat, and he looked flushed and healthy and happy, happier than she’d ever seen the man, and the pleasure in realizing that _she_ caused that joy made her heart nearly burst with delight.

“The only thing I can do is trust that you are well trained,” Cullen admitted yesterday as they left the training grounds together, side by side. “It eases my mind, seeing that you can handle yourself in a fight without magic.”

“Shame that you’ve had to devote yourself to that line of study rather than your own research,” Alexius’s comment pulled Evelyn out of her daydreaming, and she was back in the cool, dry dungeon again. “I’ve read your work on magical properties of plants. But I suppose if you’re the only one who can close rifts… ah, well. I thought I might write to a friend back in Minrathous. If you ever find the time to continue your studies, she would love to read more,” Alexius waved his hand as if in dismissal and turned to look down at his desk again, a frown on his face. The conversation was clearly over, and Evelyn wasn’t going to push any further. Alexius _had_ been helpful, after all.

“Go ahead and take the books, if you wish it. A pleasure to speak with you, as always,” Alexius said as a farewell, clearly already engrossed in whatever he had been writing before she interrupted him with her visit.

“Of course, Magister Alexius. I will be certain to write to Rivain’s College of Philosophy,” Evelyn replied, and she picked up the pile of books that sat outside of the cell. Dorian could look through Alexius’s things, if he was up to it. Evelyn would help if he needed the help, but she doubted it. Dorian was protective of his former mentor, despite the bad blood between them, and he would probably rather he do the digging through personal items himself. Evelyn would still make the offer, though. Digging through books and papers could be a thankless task.

She would _not_ write to her family and ask for that other book. She hadn’t spoken to her family in nearly two decades, save for Henrietta, and Evelyn was not going to ask a child to sneak about and do Inquisition work. Henrietta would eagerly look for this genealogical record, Evelyn was certain of it. She would be excited by the chance at adventure and the prospect of helping her aunt and do whatever Evelyn asked, but Evelyn was a responsible adult. Henrietta was already in enough trouble with her father, and she wasn’t about to make things worse for her niece. Oh, Maxwell! He had always been a stickler for tradition, the model Trevelyan heir. Time really hadn’t changed him at all, had it? Their father’s influence was strong in Maxwell.

“Oh, and Inquisitor?” Alexius called out as Evelyn began to walk away. She turned to face him, and was surprised to see that the man was no longer looking at his papers but back at her. There was a small smile on his face.

“Yes?” She asked.

“I nearly forgot. I hear that I must congratulate you on your romantic conquest. A Templar? Truly, you have successfully shaken the remnants of the Southern Chantry to its foundations,” Alexius said with a chuckle. Evelyn, to her utter shame, flushed.

“I see that everyone knows of my private business,” she muttered, and even Frederick, still guarding the door, laughed at that statement.

“I beg your pardon, Inquisitor, but you and the Commander aren’t exactly subtle,” Frederick said.

“And Dorian has complained to me of your obliviousness,” Alexius added. “My wife was much the same way, always in her books and devoted to her causes. She never noticed my feelings until I wrote a treatise on our relationship and the clear romantic overtones within it.” 

“Oh Maker, and I thought Varric’s betting pool was bad,” Evelyn mumbled. “Good day, Magister Alexius, Frederick. I… I have to go.” 

With those words, Evelyn turned on her heel and left the dungeon. There were books to be delivered to the library, letters to write, and a certain military Commander to avoid for the day. Evelyn hurried out of the doorway and let the heavy oak door shut behind her with a clang as she jogged up the stairs. Deliver books. Write to Henrietta. Avoid Cullen. Deliver books. Write to Henrietta. Avoid Cullen. Deliver books- she turned the corner and slammed into a hard object. Books scattered across the tiles, and Evelyn gazed up in dazed horror at Cullen, who looked as surprised as she did. His hair was slightly mussed, one stray curl falling over his forehead, and his mouth quirked up into a shy smile. Oh Maker she wanted to kiss him, kiss that thin scar that cut into his lip, make him smile and laugh like he did yesterday, feel his hands on her waist, holding her- this was exactly why she wanted to avoid the man!

Blast! She couldn’t even get step one of her plan right. Goodbye, book delivery.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Evelyn apologized, and Maker her voice wouldn’t even _work_ properly!

“Neither was I,” Cullen replied, and his voice was low, hoarse, and made her toes curl. “I… see you’ve been reading.”

“Ah, no, this was-” Evelyn pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t blurt out Alexius’s name. She was trying to keep her visits private for a _reason_ , but one smile from Cullen and she wanted to tell him everything! Dangerous, that. He had far too much power over her thoughts and feelings.

“Magister Alexius, I know,” Cullen said with an exasperated sigh, and he knelt down to collect some of the books. “Leliana and Josephine told me about your visits.”

“Oh,” Evelyn knelt down to collect the other books, more out of a desperate need to do something and not stare at Cullen’s face. If she kept on staring she was at a greater risk of talking, of trying to explain herself, and then she’d say something stupid and offensive and he’d get upset and they had just come to an understanding of each other-

“It is a good idea,” Cullen begrudgingly admitted, and that statement nearly made Evelyn drop the book she was holding. That was the last thing she expected to hear from Cullen.

“O-oh?”

“He’s an asset, even if he’s tried to kill you. Or have you killed. If you think that befriending the man will help us,” Cullen shrugged, “who am I to stop you?”

Evelyn sighed and stacked the books in front of her into one neat pile. “He was desperate, Cullen. He wanted to save his son. It’s- that is- I understand why he did what he did.” 

She could admit that, deep in her heart, she admired Alexius for his devotion and love of his family. No one could deny that his love for his son ran deep. Maker knew that her own family would have never taken such risks for her sake. Well, maybe Henrietta would, but she definitely _should not_. Evelyn liked what she knew of Alexius. Her knowledge was pieced together from stories Dorian told her, true, but Evelyn somewhat admired the man’s drive and intelligence. And what was the Inquisition but a hodgepodge collection of people who all wanted a second chance in some shape or form? 

“You’re... “ Cullen shook his head. “You are too forgiving. But perhaps that is what makes you a good leader.”

“Ah. I thought it was my hand and all the magic,” Evelyn said dryly. Cullen flushed and fumbled with his stack of books.

“No- well, I won’t deny that the Mark has its uses, but it isn’t the reason we decided- the people follow you for more than that- I’m making a mess of this,” Cullen muttered, and Evelyn decided to have some mercy on the man. The blush on his cheeks matched his surcoat now.

“I was teasing, Cullen,” Evelyn said gently as she stood up, books in her arms because if she had a free hand she would be too tempted to sweep that loose curl from Cullen’s forehead.

“Oh,” Cullen murmured, and he rose to his feet, books under one arm. He was looking at her strangely, as if she had grown horns or a third eye- his expression was dazed. Wondering. Evelyn turned her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Maker, he was distracting!

“Anyways, I needed to go up to the library, put these back before Dorian misses them,” Evelyn said in a rush. “So if you’re busy you can just give the books to me-”

“I’ll go with you,” Cullen interrupted. Rather than say anything (because she felt like she would sooner squeak than speak), Evelyn hurried up the stairs towards the atrium and the library above it. Cullen followed like a shadow. She ignored the pointed looks from guards, passersby, and Solas, who was painting down below but watched with thinly veiled amusement as she climbed up the stairs.

Dorian wasn’t in the library. Evelyn nearly sighed with relief as she set the books down on a table. Cullen placed his stack next to hers. His hand brushed against hers, and she felt the warmth of his skin through her thin gloves. Oh Maker. She quickly withdrew her hands and stepped away from the table.

“We can leave these here. Dorian will murder us if we muddle with the way he organizes the shelves,” Evelyn explained quickly. Cullen was looking at her again, with less bemusement this time. There was this gleam in his eyes, the same gleam he had right before he trounced her in their chess game. What was he thinking?

“Will you walk with me?” he asked, and maybe it was the softness in his voice or the way the light shone on his hair that made her pause. Maybe it was the way he smiled, or how his eyes looked as pleading and soft as a puppy begging for a treat or a snuggle. Maybe it was all those things and more, but Evelyn found that she couldn’t refuse his request.

“Of course,” she croaked,

-

It was a quiet walk along the battlements. Cullen was a warm presence by her side, a buffer against the chill mountain winds. The sun-soaked stones in the courtyard and gardens ensured that all sorts of plants could grow down below, but the battlements were a reminder that they were living in the Frostbacks. No one else greeted them as they walked, but Evelyn noted all the second glances and half hidden smiles.

“It’s… a nice day,” Cullen said hesitantly. Very hesitantly. It was strange to realize that the man before her was shy, as shy as she was. It was like night and day compared to when they played chess together only a few days before, or even yesterday when he lectured her in the War Room for suggesting they use Leliana’s agents to scope out the latest reports in the Hinterlands. He was confident and imposing there, but here? Alone? He was shy. The thought that she could make the man blush and stutter turned the world on its side, but Evelyn couldn’t deny the proof before her eyes. How could she have been so blind?

She had to step carefully here. Templars. Mages. Nothing was easy between them.

“Hmmm?”

“It’s… there was something you wished to discuss, earlier,” Cullen finally said, and it was as if he had drawn upon his last reserves of fortitude to make that statement without blushing or having his voice waver.

So now it was her turn to be brave, but Evelyn… well, to tell the absolute truth she doubted that she had ever been brave in her life. Everything she had done was motivated by a selfish desire to survive, or to make sure that the people she cared for remained unharmed. Evelyn wasn’t courageous or bold or heroic- she was a botanist from Ostwick Circle and she had no idea what she was doing! But she couldn’t let Cullen just hang around in anticipation. She couldn’t ignore what was between them, what was so obvious that even her niece, who lived across the ocean, knew of their mutual pining. It was time for Evelyn to act.

“I wanted to-” Evelyn squeaked out, feeling every inch the fool as she spoke.

“Perhaps we should-” Cullen said in a rush at the same moment.

“You first,” Evelyn said with some relief. Thank the Maker, she wouldn’t have to speak first! But Cullen’s sheepish smile was blinding and scrambled her wits, and Evelyn started wondering if she would be able to speak at all. This would all be easier to bear if he wasn’t so stupidly handsome and charming.

“No, after you,” Cullen insisted. “Please.”

Evelyn breathed in deeply, then slowly exhaled. Words. She had to use her words, if she could find them. She braced herself against the steady stone of the battlement and looked up at Cullen.

“Cullen, I care about you, and I-” Evelyn sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“You left the Templars, but do you trust Mages?” Do you trust me? Can you trust me? There were a dozen questions that lay beneath the one she asked, and Evelyn knew that they _both_ knew it. But it was important to say the words out loud.

“That is, can you trust me? Could you think of me as anything… more?” She was a Mage. She would always be a Mage, and she was proud of her magic- but Evelyn couldn’t be defined solely by her magic. Not anymore. Mage. Templar. It couldn’t be like that between them.

“I could. I- I mean I do! Think of you… and what I might say in this sort of situation,” Cullen confessed softly. He turned his head to avoid her gaze, as if looking at her was too much to bear.

“Then why? Why haven’t you- what’s stopping you?” Evelyn whispered. For a moment she thought that her words were carried away by the wind, that he hadn’t heard her at all, but then Cullen’s shoulders sagged as if loaded with a great burden. Oh. He had heard.

“You’re the Inquisitor. There’s a war and yo-” Cullen sighed, “and I didn’t think that it was possible.” The resigned sadness in his expression was hard to take. Evelyn couldn’t stand the way he looked out at the mountains and braced himself against the battlements as he waited for her reply, While he stared at the snow capped Frostbacks and the bright blue afternoon sky, she stared at him, at the exhaustion and wariness etched into his face. Vulnerability was never easy to show- but here he was, a Templar, former Templar, being vulnerable. And here she was, a Mage, former Circle Mage, ready to do the same. She wasn’t used to being brave, but she was learning.

“Neither did I,” Evelyn murmured, “and yet I’m still here.” She watched as the defeat that shrouded Cullen mere moments before melted away. He straightened up, eyes fixed on the mountain range before them.  


“So you are,” Cullen said, and the soft fondness in those three words made her knees weak. He pushed himself away from the wall, but before Evelyn could join him he was back, warm and steady against her. His body blocked out the sun, his arms surrounded her, barring her escape. Cullen would let her go if she asked, Evelyn was certain of it, and he wouldn’t demand an explanation. He’d probably never bring up this moment again, if she ran now. But Evelyn didn’t want to run.  


“It seems too much to ask,” Cullen whispered, their foreheads barely touching as he leaned in closer, “but I want to.”  


Their lips barely brushed. It could have been the breeze that kissed her, that was how light his touch was. Cullen’s eyes were half-lidded, the warm brown hazy. Evelyn’s eyelids fluttered closed as she leaned up-  


“Commander!” a man shouted, and Evelyn’s eyes flew open. Cullen pulled away from her so quickly that his absence made the icy winds on the battlements all the more apparent. Evelyn looked down the walkway, and watched as one of the Inquisition agents speedily walked towards them, parchment in hand.  


“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report-” the scout said cheerfully. Cullen’s massive form blocked her view, but Evelyn was fairly certain that it was Jim. Jim’s cheery nature often had him assigned to scouting for information around small towns. People were easy around Jim, and he often brought out the best in the people he met. Today, however, Jim’s cheerful manner and dedication to duty was decidedly not wanted.  


“ _What?_ ” Cullen asked shortly.  


“Sister Leliana’s report? You wanted it delivered to you right away….” Jim trailed off. He looked at Cullen, slowly looked over towards _her_ , quickly took stock of the situation, and stepped back.  


“Oh. To your office. Right,” Jim said faintly, and he ran down the walkway into one of the towers. Blast. By sunset everyone would know that she and Cullen were found in a compromising situation- not that much compromising happened. Even so, Evelyn could bear the disappointment. Cullen liked her. Liked _her_! He had said as much. The joy that realization sparked within her made her want to run and leap through all of Skyhold. She wanted to shout out from the rooftops- “He cares! He cares, he cares, he _likes_ me!” Her enthusiasm was girlishly foolish, she knew, but Evelyn couldn’t bring herself to care. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t kissed. There were other days, other opportunities for kisses. She was simply happy that she knew that she wasn’t uselessly pining anymore. As Cullen glared down the walkway at the retreating figure of Jim, Evelyn cleared her throat.  


“If you need t-umph!”  


What she was trying to say was silenced by Cullen, who was suddenly _there_ , kissing her with a ferocity and insistence that completely undid any composure she was trying to hold on to. Evelyn clutched at the fur mantle of his surcoat and kissed Cullen back. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. And she was kissing a man she cared about, and he was kissing her back. Mage? Templar? Who cared? In that moment, everything felt new again.  


“I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured as he pulled himself away from her. “That was… really nice.”  


“You’re not going to read Leliana’s report today, are you?” Evelyn teased, laughter bubbling up in her throat.  


“No,” Cullen replied with a breathless laugh. “No, I’m not.” And, as if to punctuate his statement, Cullen kissed her again. It felt like sunshine melting ice.

-  


__

My Darling Niece Henrietta,  


Thank you again for your letter, and all the trouble you have gone to to ensure that I received it. I may be busy, but I consider our correspondence to be quite important and a welcome respite from the trials of being part of the Inquisition. Please write to me as often as you wish, though I feel that your subterfuge will only anger your father if he learns of it. It was rather clever of you to hide your letter within another package, but it does run the risk of being intercepted. We are all fortunate that your friends are good people and immediately sent the letter my way!  


As to your father being overbearing, it is hard to say. I have not spoken with him in some time, but he has always been stern. The responsibilities of being our father’s heir weighed heavily on him from a young age, and your father has always been a responsible, dutiful son. Though we have not spoken in some time, your father has a reputation of being a strict, but fair and honorable man. Your father can be stubborn, but he is said to be a reasonable man in most matters. Try to speak to him when all of your tempers have cooled, and you may find success.  


Your father has his reasons for being concerned with your writing to me. I think that he may be afraid for you, Henrietta. Mages have never been warmly welcomed in Southern Thedas, and associating with me can damage your future reputation. But I am certain that between you and your mother, you will reach a satisfactory understanding. Things do seem to be changing!  


I also must thank you for informing me of the rumors of my relationship. My other advisers insist that gossip is the grease that oils the wheels of high society, though I have little practice in such conversation. In this case I can’t help but be grateful for your concern, Henrietta. I will dispel some of the rumors for you. I am afraid that I do not know what the gossips say about me, so I will tell you what I can.  


~~Cullen~~ The Commander and I are courting. Such an arrangement is difficult to parse when we are constantly preparing for battles and handling other Inquisition matters, but we are courting. Most importantly, our relationship isn’t a secret. We are private people, it is true, but our relationship isn’t something shameful to be whispered about or hidden. Perhaps calling him uncle would be a little too much too soon, Henrietta, but I do care for him dearly, and I am grateful for your support.  


Thank you again for your letter, and my invitation for you and your family to come and visit Skyhold still stands. You will always be welcome in my home, wherever it may be.  


Your Aunt (who is always available to read and write to her family),  


Evelyn Trevelyan

Postscript- One of my companions accidentally let slip that the board was his. I suspect it was no accidental slip, as it seems that all in our acquaintance was watching the match with avid interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If some of the letters sound familiar, they were original written as short drabbles on my tumblr!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!


End file.
